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THE    WORKS 


WILLIAM   SHAKESPEARE. 


THE     TKXT      REGULATED     BY     THK     FOLIO     OF      1632  ; 

WITH     ;  EADIXGS    FROM    FORMER    EDITIONS, 

A   HISTORY   OF    THE   STAGE,  A   LIFE   OF 

THE  POET,   AND  AN  INTRODUCTION 

TO  EACH  PLAY. 


iND     OTHER     NOTES,     BY     KNIGHT,     DYCE, 
DOUCE,    COLLIER,    HALLTWELL,    HUNTER, 
AND    RICHARDSON. 


EDITED  BY 

OKGE   LONG  DUYCKLNCK. 
VOL.  I.. 


PORTER    &    COATES, 
PHILADELPHIA. 


AMERICAN    PREFACE. 


or 
*  It 


QC       IT  has  been  the  aim  of  the  publisher,  in  the 
present  edition  of  the  Works  of  Shakespeare,  to 
**  produce,  in    an    elegant,    compact,  and   readable 
form,  the  complete  works  of  the  immortal  bard, 
has  also  been  the  intention,  by  close  condensa- 
tion, to  convey  a  greater  amount  of  information 
|j    directly  illustrative   of  the   text,    than    has  ever 
B    been    presented   in   a   similar  form.     The  notes, 
§    illustrative   of  obsolete    words,   expressions,    and 
customs,  have   been    derived  from  Mr.  Knight's 
,    Pictorial  Shakespeare,  the  works  of  Dyce,  Douce, 
0j     Haliiwell,  Hunter,  Richardson,  and  Collier,  with 
5     such  aid  as  a  long    acquaintance  with    the   dra- 
Q     matic  and  general  literature  of  the  age  of  Eliz- 
|j£     abeth  and  James  could  furnish. 

Notes,  pointing  out  or  commenting  upon  th« 
sentiments  expressed  in  the  text,  have  been  pur- 
posely avoided,  it  being  presumed  that  the  reader. 

434094    ' 


IV  AMERICAN    PREFACE. 

having  been  furnished  with  every  material  for 
the  employment  of  a  correct  taste  and  judgment, 
will  prefer  to  exercise  these  faculties  for  him- 
self. 

Comment  of  this  description  has  also  been 
avoided  in  noting  the  variations  between  the 
text  of  the  present  and  former  editions.  The 
reader  has  been  placed  in  possession  of  the  old 
by  the  side  of  the  new,  and  left  to  an  unbiased 
choice  between  them  ;  the  frequent  recurrence  of 
notes  of  this  description  rendered  necessary  the 
simple  abbreviation  of  f.  e.  for  u  former  edition." 
No  other  abbreviations  occur  in  the  notes,  un- 
less the  mention  of  the  first  or  folio  of  1623  as 
"the  folio"  be  so  regarded. 

It  may  be  proper  to  state  that  the  notes,  un- 
less  where    otherwise    expressed,    refer   to    the 
word    preceding   the    corresponding   numbers   in 
the  text, 
BOCTO»    Taly,  18M. 


DEDICATION. 


To  the  most  Noble  and  Incomparable  Pair  of  Biethren 

William  Earl  of  Pembroke,  <fce.     Lord  Chamberlain  to 

the  King's  most  Excellent  Majesty. 

And  Philip  Earl  of  Montgomery,  <fec.     Gentleman  of 
his  Majesty's  Bedchamber.     Both  Knights  of  the  most 

Noble  Order  of  the  Garter,  and  our  singular  good  Lords. 
Right  Honourable, 

Whilst  we  study  to  be  thankful  in  our  particular  for  the 
many  favours  we  have  received  from  your  Lordships,  we 
are  fallen  upon  the  ill  fortune,  to  mingle  two  the  most  di- 
verse things  that  can  be,  fear,  and  rashness  ;  rashness  in  the 
enterprise,  and  fear  of  the  success.  For,  when  we  value 
the  places  your  Higlmesses  sustain,  we  cannot  but  know 
their  dignity  greater,  than  to  descend  to  the  reading  of  these 
trifles :  and,  while  we  name  them  trifles,  we  have  deprived 
ourselves  of  the  defence  of  our  Dedication.  But  since  your 
Lordships  have  been  pleased  to  think  these  trifles  some- 
thing, heretofore  ;  and  have  prosecuted  both  them,  and  their 
Author  living,  with  so  much  favour,  we  hope,  (that  they 
outliving  him,  and  he  not  having  the  fate,  common  with  some, 
to  be  executor  to  his  own  writings)  yon  will  use  the  like 
indulgence  toward  them,  you  have  done  unto  their  parent 
There  is  a  great  difference,  whether  any  book  choose  his 
patrons,  or  find  them  ;  this  hath  done  both.  For,  so  much 
were  your  Lordships'  likings  of  the  several  parts,  when 
they  were  acted,  as  before  they  were  published,  the  volume 
asked  to  be  yours.  We  have  but  collected  them,  and  done 
an  office  to  the  dead,  to  procure  his  orphans,  guardians ; 
without  ambition  either  of  self-profit,  or  fame :  only  to  keep 
the  memory  of  so  worthy  a  friend,  and  fellow  alive,  as  was 
our  SHAKESPEARE,  by  humble  offer  of  his  plays,  to  your 
most  noble  patronage.  Wherein,  as  we  have  justly  observed, 
no  man  to  come  near  your  Lordships  but  with  a  kind  of 
religious  address,  it  hath  been  the  height  of  our  care,  who 
are  the  presenters,  to  make  the  present  worthy  of  your 
Highnesses  by  the  perfection.  But,  there  we  must'alsc 


DEDICATION. 

crave  our  abilities  to  be  considered,  my  Lords.  We  cannot 
so  beyond  our  own  powers.  Country  hands  reach  forth 
milk,  cream,  fruits,  or  what  they  have  ;  and  many  nations, 
'we  have  heard)  that  had  not  gums  and  incense,  obtained 
their  requests  with  a  leavened  cake.  It  was  no  fault  to  ap- 
proach their  gods,  by  what  means  they  could  ;  and  the  most 
though  meanest  of  things  are  made  more  precious,  when 
they°are  dedicated  to  temples.  In  that  name  therefore,  we 
most  humbly  consecrate  to  your  Highnesses  these  remains 
of  your  servant  SHAKESPEARE;  that  what  delight  is  in  them, 
may  be  ever  your  Lordships',  the  reputation  his,  and  the 
faults  ours,  if  any  be  committed,  by  a  pair  so  careful  to  shew 
their  gratitude  both  to  the  living,  and  the  dead,  as  is 

Your  Lordships'  most  bounden, 
JOHN  HEMINGE, 
HENBY  CONDELL 


TO  THE  GREAT  VARIETY  OF  READERS. 

From  the  most  able,  to  him  that  can  but  spell :  there 
you  are  numbered.  We  had  rather  you  were  weighed. 
Especially,  when  the  fate  of  all  books  depends  upon  your 
capacities ;  and  not  of  your  heads  alone,  but  of  your  purses. 
Well,  it  is  now  public,  and  you  will  stand  for  your  privileges, 
we  know :  to  read,  and  censure.  Do  so,  but  buy  it  first 
That  doth  best  commend  a  book,  the  stationer  says.  Then, 
how  odd  soever  your  brains  be,  or  your  wisdams,  make  your 
licence  the  same,  and  spare  not  Judge  your  sixpeu'orth, 
your  shilling's  worth,  your  five  shillings'  worth  at  a  time, 
or  higher,  so  you  rise  to  the  just  rates,  and  welcome.  But, 
whatever  you  do,  buy.  Censure  will  not  drive  a  trade,  or 
make  the  jack  go.  And  though  you  be  a  magistrate  of 
•wit  and  sit  on  the  stage  at  Blackfriars,  or  the  Cock-pit,  to 
arraign  plays  dailv,  know,  these  plays  have  had  their  trial 
uliviuly,  and  stood" out  all  appeals;  and  do  now  come  forth 
quitted  rather  by  a  decree  of  court,  than  any  purchased 
letters  of  commendation. 

It  had  been  a  thing,  we  confess,  worthy  to  have  been 
wished,  that  the  Author  himself  had  lived  to  have  set  forth, 
an  1  overseen  his  own  writings  ;  but  since  it  hath  been  or- 
dam.'d  otherwise,  and  he  by  death  departed  from  that  right, 
we  pray  you  do  not  envy  his  friends  the  office  of  their  care, 
aqd  pain,  to  have  collected  and  published  them ;  and  so  to 
have  published  them,  as  where  (before)  you  were  abused 


DEDICATION. 

with  divers  stolen,  and  surreptitious  copies,  maimed,  ana 
deformed  by  the  frauds  and  stealths  of  injurious  impostors 
that  exposed  them  ;  even  those,  are  now  offered  to  your  view 
cured,  and  perfect  of  their  limbs,  and  all  the  rest,  absolute 
in  their  numbers,  as  he  conceived  them.  Who,  as  he  was  a 
happy  imitator  of  Nature,  was  a  most  gentle  expresser  of  it. 
His  mind  and  hand  went  together ;  and  what  he  thought, 
he  uttered  with  that  easiness,  that  we  have  scarce  received 
from  him  a  blot  in  his  papers.  But  it  is  not  our  province, 
who  only  gather  his  works,  and  give  them  you,  to  praise 
him.  It  is  yours  that  read  him.  And  there  we  hope,  to 
your  divers  capacities,  you  will  find  enough,  both  to  draw, 
and  hold  you  ;  for  his  wit  can  no  more  lie  hid,  than  it  could 
be  lost  Read  him,  therefore  ;  and  again,  and  again :  and 
if  then  you  do  not  like  him,  surely  you  are  in  some  mani- 
fest danger,  not  to  understand  him.  And  so  we  leave  vou 
to  other  of  his  friends,  who,  if  you  need,  can  be  your  guides : 
if  you  need  them  not,  you  can  lead  yourselves,  and  others, 
And  such  readers  we  wish  him. 

JOHN  HEMIXGE. 

HENRY  CONDELL. 


COMMENDATORY  VEKSES. 


Upon   the  Effigies  of  my  worthy  Friend,  the  Author 
Master  William  Sltakespeare,  and  his  Works. 
Spectator,  this  life's  shadow  is : — to  see 
The  truer  image,  and  a  livelier  he, 
Turn  reader.     But  observe  his  comic  vein, 
Laugh ;  and  proceed  next  to  a  tragic  strain, 
Then  weep :  so, — when  thou  find'st  two  contraries, 
Two  different  passions  from  thy  wrapt  soul  rise, — 
Say,  (who  alone  effect  such  wonders  could) 
Rare  Shake-spearc  to  the  Me  thou  dost  behold. 

An  Epitaph  on  the  admirable  Dramatic  Poet,  W.  Shake- 
speare* 

What  need  my  Shakespeare  for  his  honour'd  bones, 
The  labour  of  an  age  in  piled  stones  ; 
Or  that  his  hallow' d  reliques  should  be  hid 
Under  a  star-ypointing  pyramid  1 
Dear  son  of  me.nory,  great  heir  of  fame, 
What  need'st  thou  such  dull  witness  of  thy  name  ? 
Thou,  in  our  wonder  and  astonishment, 
Hast  built  thyself  a  lasting  monument : 
For  whilst,  to  the  shame  of  slow-endeavouring  art, 
Thy  easy  numbers  flow ;  and  that  each  part 
Hath,  from  the  leaves  of  thy  unvalued  book, 

»  An  Epitaph  on  the  admirable  Dramatic  Poet,  W.  Shakespeare.] 
These  lines,  like  the  preceding,  have  no  name  appended  to  them  in 
the  folio,  163-2,  but  the  authorship  is  ascertained  by  the  publication 
of  them  as  JVIilton's,  in  the  edition  of  his  Poems  in  1645.  Svo.  We 
give  them  as  they  stand  there,  because  it  is  evident  that  they  -were 
then  printed  from  a  copy  corrected  by  the  author  :  the  variations  are 
interesting,  and  Malone  pointed  out  only  one,  and  that  certainly  the 
least  important.  Instead  of  "  weak  witness"  in  line  6.  the  folio  1632 
has  "  dull  witness  :"  instead  of  "  live-long  monument,"  in  line  8,  tha 
folio  has  "  lusting  monument  :"  instead  of  "  heart,"  in  line  10,  the 
folio  has  "  part,"  an  evident  misprint  :  and  instead  of  "  itself  be- 
reaving," in  line  13,  the  folio  has  "  herself  bereaving."  The  last  ii 
the  difference  mentioned  by  Malone,  who  also  places  "  John  Milton" 
»t  the  end,  as  if  the  name  were  found  in  the  folio  of  1632. 


li  COMMENDATORY    VERSES. 

Those  Delphic  lineB  with  deep  impression  took ; 
Then  thou,  our  fancy  of  herself  bereaving, 
Dost  make  us  marble  with  too  much  conceiving  • 
And,  so  sepulchred,  in  such  pomp  dost  lie, 
That  kings  for  such  a  tomb  would  wish  to  die. 

To  the  Memory  of  the  deceased  Author,  Master  W.  Sliake- 

speare. 

Shake-fpeare,  at  length  thy  pious  fellows  give 
The  world  thy  works  ;  thy  works,  by  which  outlive 
Thy  tomb  thy  name  must :  when  that  stone  is  rent, 
And  time  dissolves  thy  Stratford  monument, 
Here  we  alive  shall  view  thee  still :  this  book, 
When  brass  and  marble  fade,  shall  make  thee  look 
Fresh  to  all  ages ;  when  posterity- 
Shall  loathe  what 's  new,  think  all  is  prodigy 
That  is  not  Shakespeare's,  every  line,  each  verse, 
Here  shall  revive,  redeem  thee  from  thy  hearse. 
Nor  fire,  nor  cankering  age,  as  Naso  said 
Of  his,  thy  wit-fraught  book  shall  once  invade  : 
Nor  shall  I  e'er  believe  or  think  thee  dead, 
(Though  missV^  until  our  bankrupt  stage  be  sped 
(Impossible)  T.th  some  new  strain  t'  out-do 
Passions  of  ruliet,  and  her  Romeo ; 
Or  till  I  b-v-r  a  scene  more  nobly  take, 
Than  when  thy  half-sword  parleying  Romans  spake  :' 

i  Than  v  »  «n  thy  half-sword  parleying  Homans  spake  :]  Leonard 
Oigges  pr'ttto  a  long  copy  of  verses  to  the  edition  of  Shakespeare's 
Poems  i^  jC4(),  Svo,  in  which  he  makes  this  passage,  referring  to 
"  Julius  f  rsar,"  more  distinct  ;  he  also  there  speaks  of  the  audiences 
Shakec  *8.re's  plays  at  that  time  drew,  in  comparison  with  Ben.  Jon- 
•on'tt.  "*his  is  the  only  part  of  his  production  worth. adding  in  a  note 

So  have  I  seen,  when  Caesar  would  appear, 

And  on  the  stage  at  half-sword  parley  were 

Brutus  and  Cassius,  0,  how  the  audience 

When,  some  new  day,  they  would  not  brook  a  line 
Of  tedious,  though  well-labour'd,  Cataline  ; 
Seiauus  too,  was  irksome  :  they  priz'd  more 
'  Honest'  lago,  or  the  jealous  Moor. 
And  though  the  Fox  and  subtil  Alchymist, 
Long  intermitted,  could  not  quite  be  mist, 
Though  these  have  sham'd  all  th'  ancients,  and  might  r&JM 
Their  author's  merit  with  a  crown  of  bays, 
Yet  these  sometimes,  even  at  a  friend's  desire, 
Acted,  have  scarce  defrayed  the  sea-coai  fire, 
And  door-keepers  :  when,  let  but  Falstaff  come, 
Hal,  Poms,  the  rest,— you  scarce  shall  have  a  room, 
All  is  «o  pester'd  :  let  but  Beatrice 
And  Benedick  be  seen,  lo  !  in  a  trice 
The  cock-pit,  galleries,  boxes,  all  are  full, 
.    To  hear  Malvolio,  that  cross-garter'd  gull. 


Brief,  there  is  nothing  in  his  wit-fraught  book, 
Who»e  sound  we  would  not  hear,  on.  whose 


worth  look,"  &o. 


COMMENDATORY    VERSES. 


«i 


Till  these,  till  any  of  thy  volume's  rest, 
Shall  with  more  fire,  more  feeling,  be  express'd, 
Be  sure,  (our  Shake-speare,)  thou  canst  net  er  die, 
But,  crown'd  with  laurel,  live  eternally. 

L.  DIGGKS. 

To  the  Memory  of  M.  W.  Shake-speare. 
We  wonder'd  (Shake-speare)  that  thou  weut'st  so  soon 
From  the  world's  stage  to  the  grave's  tiring-room  : 
We  thought  thee  dead  ;  but  this  thy  printed  worth 
Tells  thy  spectators,  that  thou  went'st  but  forth 
To  enter  with  applause.     An  actor's  art 
Can  die,  and  li ve  to  act  a  second  part : 
That 's  but  an  exit  of  mortality, 
This  a  re-entrance  to  a  plaudite.  L  M.1 

To  the  Memory  of  my  beloved,  the  Author.  Mr.  William 

Shakespeare,  and  what  he  hath  left  us. 
To  draw  no  envy  (Shakespeare)  on  thy  name, 
Am  I  thus  ample  to  thv  book,  and  fame ; 
While  I  confess  thy  writings  to  be  such, 
As  neither  man,  nor  muse,  can  praise  too  much ; 
'T  is  true,  and  all  men's  suffrage  ;  but  these  ways 
Were  not  the  paths  I  meant  unto  thy  praise : 
For  seeliest  ignorance  on  these  may  light, 
Which,  when  it  sounds  at  best,  but  echoes  right ; 
Or  blind  affection,  which  doth  ne'er  advance 
The  truth,  but  gropes,  and  urgeth  all  by  chance ; 
Or  crafty  malice  might  pretend  this  praise, 
And  think  to  ruin,  where  it  seem'd  to  raise  : 
These  are,  as  some  infamous  bawd,  or  whore, 
Should  praise  a  matron  ;  what  could  hurt  her  more  ? 
But  thou  art  proof  against  them  ;  and,  indeed, 
Above  th'  ill  fortune  of  them,  or  the  need. 
I,  therefore,  will  begin : — Soul  of  the  age, 
The  applause,  delight,  the  wonder  of  our  stage, 
My  Shakespeare,  rise  !    I  will  not  lodge  thee  by 
Chaucer,  or  Spenser ;  or  bid  Beaumont  lie 
A  little  further,  to  make  thee  a  room* : 
Thou  art  a  monument  without  a  tomb ; 
.  nd  art  alive  still,  while  thy  book  doth  live, 

»  Perhaps  the  initials  of  John  Marston. 

*  Referring  to  lines  by  William  Basse,  then  circulating  in  MS  , 
»nd  not  printed  (,as  far  as  is  now  known)  until  163:3,  when  they  were 
falsely  imputed  to  Dr.  Donne,  in  the  edition  of  his  poems  in  tbal 
year.  All  the  MSS.  of  the  linos,  now  extant,  differ  in  minute  par- 
ticulars. 


V  COMMENDATORY    VERSES. 

And  we  have  wits  to  read,  and  praise  to  give. 

Thati  not  mix  thee  so,  my  brain  excuses  ; 

I  mean,  with  great  but  disproportion'd  muses  : 

For,  if  I  thought  my  judgment  were  of  years, 

I  should  commit  thee  surely  with  thy  peers  ; 

And  tell  how  far  thou  didst  our  Lyly  outshine, 

Or  sporting  Kyd,  or  Marlowe's  mighty  line  : 

And  though  thou  hadst  small  Latin,  and  less  Greek, 

From  thence  to  honour  thee,  I  would  not  seek 

For  names  ;  but  call  forth  thundering  JSschylus, 

Euripides,  and  Sophocles,  to  us, 

Pacuvius,  Accius,  him  of  Cordova  dead, 

To  live  again,  to  hear  thy  buskin  tread 

And  shake  a  stage  :  or,  when  thy  socks  were  on, 

Leave  thee  alone,  for  the  comparison 

Of  all  that  insolent  Greece,  or  haughty  Rome, 

Sent  forth,  or  since  did  from  their  ashes  come. 

Triumph,  mv  Britain  !  thou  hast  one  to  show, 

To  whom  ail  scenes  of  Europe  homage  owe. 

He  was  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time  ; 

And  all  the  muses  still  were  in  their  prime, 

When  like  Apollo  he  came  forth  to  warm 

Our  ears,  or  like  a  Mercury  to  charm. 

Nature  herself  was  proud  of  his  designs, 

And  joy'd  to  wear  the  dressing  of  his  lines  ; 

Which  were  so  richly  spun,  and  woven  so  fit, 

As  since  she  will  vouchsafe  no  other  wit 

The  merry  Greek,  tart  Aristophanes, 

JN  eat  1  erence,  witty  Plautus,  now  not  please  * 

But  antiquated  and  deserted  lie 

As  they  were  not  of  Nature's  family. 

Yet  must  I  not  give  Nature  all  ;  thy  art, 

My  gentle  Shakespeare,  must  enjoy  a  part: 

Foe  though  the  poet's  matter  nature  be, 

His  art  doth  give  the  fashion  ;  and  that  he, 

Who  casts  to  write  a  living  line,  must  sweat, 

(buch  as  thine  are)  and  strike  the  second  heat 

Upon  the  muses'  anvil  ;  turn  the  same 

(And  himself  with  it)  that  he  thinks  to'  frame  ; 

Or  for  the  laurel  he  may  gain  a  scorn, 

*or  a  good  poet  ' 


A  wZ  A  ,^'c1  e  8eems  to  8hake  alance, 
As  brand,sh-d  at  the  eyes  of  ignorance,  ^ 
Sweet  Swan  of  Avon,  what  a  sight  it  were, 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES.  V 

To  see  thee  in  our  water  yet  appear ; 

And  make  those  flights  upon  the  banks  of  Thames, 

That  so  did  take  Eliza,  and  our  James. 

But  stay ;  I  see  thee  in  the  hemisphere 

Advanc'd,  and  made  a  constellation  there  : 

Shine  forth,  thou  star  of  poets  ;  and  with  rage, 

Or  influence,  chide,  or  cheer,  the  drooping  stage 

Which,  since  thy  flight  from  hence,  hath  mourn'd  lik< 

night, 
And  despairs  day,  but  for  thy  volume 's  light 

BEN  JONSON 

On  worthy  Master  Shakespeare,  and  his  poems.1 

A  mind  reflecting  ages  past,  whose  clear 
And  equal  surface  can  make  things  appear, 
Distant  a  thousand  years,  and  represent 
Them  in  their  lively  colours,  just  extent : 
To  outrun  hasty  time,  retrieve  the  fates, 
Roll  back  the  heavens,  blow  ope  the  iron  gates 
Of  death  and  Lethe,  where  (confused)  lie 
Great  heaps  of  ruinous  mortality : 
In  that  deep  dusky  dungeon  to  discern 
A  royal  ghost  from  churls  ;  by  art  to  learn 
The  physiognomy  of  shades,  and  give 
Them  sudden  birth,  wondering  how  oft  they  live ; 
What  story  coldly  telb,  what  poets  feign 
At  second  hand,  and  picture  without  brain, 
Senseless  and  soul-less  shows :  to  give  a  stage 
(Ample,  and  true  with  life)  voice,  action,  age, 
As  Plato's  year,  and  new  scene  of  the  world. 
Them  unto  us,  or  us  to  them  had  hurl'd  : 
To  raise  our  ancient  sovereigns  from  their  hearse, 
Make  kings  his  subjects  ;  by  exchanging  verse 
Enlive  their  pale  trunks,  that  the  present  age 
Joys  in  their  joy,  and  trembles  at  their  rage : 
Yet  so  to  tempter  passion,  that  our  ears 
Take  pleasure  in  their  pain,  and  eyes  in  tears 
Both  weep  and  smile  ;  fearful  at  plots  so  sad, 

»  On  worthy  Master  Shakespeare,  and  his  Poems.]  These  lines  are 
.nbscribed  I.  M.  S.  in  the  folio  1632,  "  probably  Jasper  Mayne,"  says 
Malone.  Most  probably  not,  because  Mayne  has  lett  nothing  behind 
him  to  lead  us  to  suppose  that  he  could  have  produced  this  surpassing 
tribute.  I.  M.  S.  may  possibly  be  lohn  Milton,  Student,  and  no  name 
may  have  been  appended  to  the  other  copy  of  verses  by  him  prefixed 
to  the  folio  of  1632,  in  order  that  his  initials  should  stand  at  the  end 
of  the  present.  We  know  of  no  other  poet  of  the  time  capable  of 
writing  the  ensuing  lines.  We  feel  morally  certain  that  they  are  bj 
Milton. 


\  COMMENDATORY    VERSES. 

Then  laughing  at  our  fear ;  abus'd,  and  glad 
To  be  abus'd  ;  affected  with  that  truth 
Which  we  perceive  is  false,  pleas'd  in  that  ruth 
At  which  we  start,  and,  by  elaborate  play, 
Tortur'd  and  tickled ;  by  a  crab-like  way 
Time  past  made  pastime,  and  in  ugly  sort 
Disgorging  up  his  ravin  for  our  sport : — 
— While  the  plebeian  imp,  from  lofty  throne. 
Creates  and  rules  a  world,  and  works  upon 
Mankind  by  secret  engines ;  now  to  move 
A  chilling  pity,  then  a  rigorous  love  ; 
To  strike  up  and  stroke  down,  both  joy  and  ire  ; 
To  steer  th'  affections ;  and  by  heavenly  fire 
Mould  us  anew,  stol'u  from  ourselves : — • 

This,  and  much  more,  which  cannot  be  express'd 
But  bv  himself,  his  tongue,  and  his  own  breast, 
Was  Shakespeare's  freehold ;  which  his  cunning  brain 
Improv'd  by  favour  of  the  nine-fold  train  ; 
The  buskin'd  muse,  the  comic  queen,  the  grand 
And  louder  tone  of  Clio,  nimble  hand 
And  nimbler  foot  of  the  melodious  pair, 
The  silver-voiced  lady,  the  most  fair 
Calliope,  whose  speaking  silence  daunts, 
And  she  whose  praise  the  heavenly  body  chants ; 
These  jointly  woo'd  him,  envying  one  another, 
(Obey'd  by  all  as  spouse,  but  lov'd  as  brother) 
And  wrought  a  curious  robe,  of  sable  grave, 
Fresh  green,  and  pleasant  yellow,  red  most  brave 
And  constant  blue,  rich  purple,  guiltless  white, 
The  lowly  russet,  and  the  scarlet  bright  : 
Branch'd  and  embroider'd  like  the  painted  spring , 
Each  leaf  match'd  with  a  flower,  and  each  string 
Of  golden  wire,  each  line  of  silk  ;  there  run 
Italian  works,  whose  thread  the  sisters  spun ; 
And  there  did  sing,  or  seem  to  sing,  the  choice 
Birds  of  a  foreign  note  and  various  voice  : 
Here  hangs  a  mossy  rock ;  there  plays  a  fair 
But  chiding  fountain,  purled  :  not  the  air, 
Nor  clouds,  nor  thunder,  but  were  living  drawn , 
Not  out  of  common  tiffany  or  lawn, 
But  line  materials,  which  "the  muses  know, 
And  only  know  the  countries  where  they  grow. 

Now.  when  they  could  no  longer  him  enjoy, 
Tn  mortal  garments  pent,— death  may  destroy, 
Thev  say,  his  body ;  but  his  verse  shall  live, 
And  more  than  nature  takes  our  hands  shall  give  : 
In  a  less  volume,  but  more  strongly  bound, 
Shakespeare  shall  breathe  and  speak ;  with  laurel  crown'd. 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES.  VU 

Which  never  fades ;  fed  -with  ambrosian  meat, 
In  a  well-lined  vesture,  rich,  and  neat 
So  with  this  robe  they  clothe  him,  bid  him  wear  it ; 
For  time  shall  never  stain,  nor  envy  tear  it 

The  friendly  admirer  of  his  endowments. 

I.M.S. 

Upon  the  Lines,  and  Life,  of  the  famous  Scenic  Poett 
Master  W.  Shakespeare. 

Those  hands  which  you  so  clapp'd,  go  now  and  wring, 
You  Britons  brave  ;  for  done  are  Shake-speare's  days  : 
His  days  are  done  that  made  the  dainty  plays, 

Which  made  the  Globe  of  heaven  and  earth  to  ring. 

Dried  is  that  vein,  dried  is  the  Thespian  spring, 
Turn'd  all  to  tears,  and  Phcebus  clouds  his  rays ; 
That  corpse,  that  coffin,  now  bestick  those  bays, 

Which  crown'd  him  poet  first  then  poet's  king. 
If  tragedies  might  any  prologue  have, 

All  those  he  made  would  scarce  make  one  to  this ; 
Where  fame,  now  that  he  gone  is  to  the  grave, 

(Death's  public  tiring-house)  the  Nuntius  is  : 

For,  though  his  line  of  life  went  soon  about, 

The  life  yet  of  his  lines  shall  never  out. 

HUGH  HOLLAND 

The  following  are  Ben  Jonsorfs  lines  on  the  Portrait  of 
Shakespeare,  precisely  as  they  stand  on  a  separate  leaf 
opposite  to  the  title-page  of  the  edition  of  1623,  ana 
which  are  reprinted  in  the  same  place,  with  some  trifling 
variation  of  typography,  in  the  folio  of  1632. 

TO    THE    READER. 

This  Figure,  that  thou  here  seest  put, 
It  was  for  gentle  Shakespeare  cut ; 
Wherein  the  Graver  had  a  strife 
With  Mature,  to  out-do  the  life  : 
0,  could  he  but  have  drawn  his  wit 
As  well  in  brass,  as  he  hath  hit 
His  face ;  the  Print  would  then  surpass 
All,  that  was  ever  writ  in  brass. 
But  since  he  cannot,  Reader,  look 
Not  at  his  picture,  but  his  book 


THE  NAMES 

OF  THE 

PRINCIPAL  ACTORS  IN  ALL  THESE  PLAYS. 

WILLIAM  SHAKKSPEAKE.  SAMUEL  GILBURNE 

RICHARD  BURBADGE.  ROBERT  ARMIN. 

JOHN  HEMMINGS.  WILLIAM  OSTLER, 

ABGDSTINE  PHILLIPS  NATHAN  FIELD. 

WILLIAM  KEMPT.  JOHN  UNDERWOOD. 

THOMAS  POOPE.  NICHOLAS  TOOLEY. 

GEORGE  BRYAN.  WILLIAM  ECCLESTONK. 

HENRY  CONDELL.  JOSEPH  TAYLOR. 

WILLIAM  SLYE.  ROBERT  BENFIELD. 

RICHARD  COWLEY.  ROBERT  GOUGHE. 

JOHN  LOWINK.  RICHARD  ROBINSOH. 

SAMUELL  CROSSE.  JOHN  SHANCKE. 

AtlXANDKB   COOKE,  JOHN    RlCK. 


CONTENTS   OF   VOL.   I 


MM 

HISTORY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  DRAMA  AND 

STAGE ii 

THE  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE  .  xlvii 

SHAKESPEARE'S  WILL ccviij 

THE  TEMPEST 5 

THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA  6? 

THE  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR  12» 

VOL.  i.  2 


HISTORY 


THE  ENGLISH  DRAMA  AND  STAGE 

TO 

THE  TIME  OF  SHAKESPEARE. 


IN  order  to  make  the  reader  acquainted  with  the  origin  of 
the  English  stage,  such  as  Shakespeare  found  it  when  he 
became  connected  with  it,  it  is  necessary  to  mention  that  a 
miiacle-play  or  mystery,  (as  it  has  been  termed  hi  modern 
times),  is  the  oldest  form  of  dramatic  composition  in  our 
language.  The  stories  of  productions  of  this  kind  wei-e 
derived  from  the  Sacred  Writings,  from  the  pseudo-evan- 
gelium,  or  from  the  lives  and  legends  of  saints  aud  martyrs. 
Miracle  pl;;vs  were  common  in  London  in  the  year  1170; 
and  as  early  as  1119  the  miracle-play  of  St.  Katherine  had 
been  represented  at  Duustiiple.  It  has  been  conjectured, 
aud  indeed  in  part  established',  that  so7iie  of  these  perform- 
ances were  iu  French,  as  well  as  in  Latin ;  and  it  was  not 
until  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  that  they  were  generally 
acted  in  English.  We  have  three  existing  series  of  miracle- 

Clavs.  all  of  which  have  been  recently  printed;  the  Towne- 
;y  collection  by  the  Surtees  Club,  and  those  known  as  the 
Coventry  and  Chester  pageants  by  the  Shakespeare  Society. 
The  Abbotsford  Club  has  likewise  printed,  from  a  manu- 
script at  Oxford,  three  detached  miracle-plays  which  once, 
probably,  formed  a  portion  of  a  connected  succession  of  pro- 
auctions  of  that  class  and  description. 

During  about  300  years  this  species  of  theatrical  enter- 
taiumeutf  seems  to  have  flourished,  often  under  the  auspices 
of  the  clergy,  who  used  it  as  the  means  of  religious  instruc- 
tion ;  but  prior  to  the  reign  of  Henry  VI.,  a  new  kind  of 
drama  had  become  popular,  which  by"  writers  of  the  time 
was  denominated  a  moral,  or  moral  play,  and  more  recently 
a  morality.  It  acquired  this  name  from  the  nature  and 
>  See  Hist,  of  Engl  Dram.  Poetry  and  the  Stage,  vol.  ii.  p.  131. 


Aii  HISTORY    OF    THR    ENGLISH    STAGE 

purpose  of  the  representation,  which  usually  conveyed  a 
lesson  for  the  better  conduct  of  human  life,  the  characters 
employed  not  being  scriptural,  as  in  miracle-plays,  but  alle- 
gorical, or  symbolical.  Miracle-plays  continued  to  be  repre- 
sented long  after  moral  plays  were  introduced,  but  from  a 
remote  date  abstract  impersonations  had  by  degrees,  not 
now  easily  traced,  found  their  way  into  mii'acle-plays :  thus, 
perhaps,  moral  plays,  consisting  only  of  such  charactei  5. 
grew  out  of  them. 

A  very  remarkable  and  interesting  miracle-play,  not 
founded  upon  the  Sacred  Writings,  but  upon  a  popular 
legend,  and  all  the  characters  of  which,  with  one  exception, 
purport  to  be  real  personages,  has  recently  been  discovered 
in  the  library  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  in  a  manuscript 
certainly  as  old  as  the  hiter  part  of  the  reign  of  Edward 
IV.1  It  is  perhaps  the  only  specimen  of  the  kind  iu  our 
language  ;  and  as  it  was  unknown  to  all  who  have  hitherto 
written  on  the  history  of  our  ancient  drama,  it  will  not  here 
be  out  of  place  to  give  some  account  of  the  incidents  to 
which  it  relates,  and  of  the  persons  concerned  in  them.  The 
title  of  the  piece,  and  the  year  iu  which  the  events  are  sup 
posed  to  have  occurred,  are  given  at  the  close,  where  we 
are  told  that  it  is  "  The  Play  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament2," 
and  that  the  miracle  to  which  it  refers  was  wrought  "  in 
the  forest  of  Arragon,  in  the  famous  city  of  Araclea,  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  God  1461."  There  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  scene  of  action  was  imaginary,  being  fixed  merely  for 
the  greater  satisfaction  of  the  spectators  as  to  the  reality 
of  the  occurrences,  and  as  little  that  a  legend  of  the  kind 
was  of  a  much  older  date  than  that  assigned  in  the  manu- 
script, which  was  probably  near  the  time  when  the  drama 
had  been  represented. 

In  its  form  it  closely  resembles  the  miracle-plays  wliich 
had  their  origin  iu  Scripture-liistory,  and  one  of  the  charac- 
ters, that  of  the  Saviour,  common  in  productions  of  that 
class,  is  introduced  into  it:  the  rest  of  the  persouagea 
i-iigii^rd  are  five  Jews,  named  Jonathas,  Jason,  Jasdon, 
Masphat,  and  Malchus ;  a  Christian  merchant  called  Aris- 
torius,  a  bishop,  Sir  Isidore  a  priest,  a  physician  from 
Brabant  called  "Mr.  Brundyche,"  and  Colle  his  servant3. 

• We  are  indebted  for  a  correct  transcript  of  the  original  to  the  zeal 
Mid  kindness  of  Dr.  J.  H.  Todd,  V.P.,  R.sfA. 

^>  In  another  part  of  the  manuscript  it  is  called  "The  Play  of  the 

Iff  ar  Jonathas,  the  Jew,  by  the  Miracle  of  the  Blessed 

lent ;     but  inferior  Jews  are  converted,  besides   Sir  Jonathas, 

•  flS-       head  of  the  tribe  in  the  "famous  city  of  Araclea." 
•      T?'*name  m,ay  possibly  throw  some  light  on  an  obscure  passage, 
Ji  a  letter  dated  about  1535,  and  quoted  in  "The  History  of  Kngl 
Dram.  Poetry  and  the  Stage,''  1.  131,  where  a  person  of  the  name  of 
Ihoma*  Wylley  micros  Cromwell,  Earl  of  Essex,  that  he  had  written 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  X11I 

The  plot  mates  to  the  purchase  of  the  Eucharist  by  the 
Jews  from  Aristorius  for  100/.,  under  an  assurance  also 
that  if  they  find  its  miraculous  powers  verified,  they  will 
become  converts  to  Christianity.  Aristorius,  having  pos- 
session of  the  key  of  the  church,  enters  it  secretly,  takes 
away  the  Host,  and  sells  it  to  the  Jews.  They  put  it  to 
various  tests  and  torments:  they  stab  "the  cake"  with 
their  daggers,  and  it  bleeds,  while  one  of  the  Jews  goes 
mad  at  the  sight  They  next  attempt  to  nail  it  to  a  post, 
but  the  Jew  who  uses  the  hammer  has  his  hand  torn  off; 
and  here  the  doctor  and  his  servant,  Mr.  Brundyche  and 
Colle,  make  their  appearance  in  order  to  attend  the  wounded 
Jew;  but  after  a  long  comic  scene  between  the  quack  and 
his  man,  highly  illustrative  of  the  manners  of  the  time, 
they  are  d:iven  out  as  impostors.  The  Jews  then  proceed 
to  boil  the  Host,  but  the  water  turns  blood-red,  and  taking 
it  out  of  the  cauldron  with  pincers,  they  throw  it  into  a 
blaziug  oven:  the  oven,  after  blood  has  run  out  "at  the 
crannies,"  burets  asunder,  and  an  image  of  the  Saviour 
rising,  he  addresses  the  Jews,  who  are  as  good  as  their 
word,  for  they  are  converted  on  the  spot  They  kueel  to 
the  Christian"  bishop,  and  Aristorius  having  confessed  his 
crime  and  declared  his  repentance,  is  forgiven  after  a  suit- 
able admonition,  and  a  strict  charge  never  again  to  buy  or 
sell. 

This  very  singular  and  striking  performance  is  opened, 
as  was  usual  with  miracle-plays,"  by  two  Vexillators,  who 
explain  the  nature  of  the  story  about  to  be  represented,  in 
alternate  stanzas ;  and  the  whole  performance  is  wound  up 
by  an  epilogue  from  the  bishop,  enforcing  the  moral,  which 
of  course  was  intended  to  illustrate,  and  impress  upon  the 
audience,  the  divine  origin  of  the  doctrine  of  transubstantia- 
tion.  Were  it  necessary  to  our  design,  and  did  space  allow 
of  it,  we  should  be  strongly  tempted  to  introduce  some 
characteristic  extracts  from  this  hitherto  unseen  production ; 
but  we  must  content  ourselves  with  saving,  that  the  language 
in  several  places  appears  to  be  older  than  the  reign  of 
Edward  IV.,  or  even  of  Henry  VI.,  and  that  we  might  be 
disposed  to  carry  back  the  original  composition  of  the  drama 
to  the  period  of  Wickliffe,  and  the  Lollards. 

It  was  not  until  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  that  miracle-plays 
were  generally  abandoned,  but  in  some  distant  parts  of  in« 
kingdom  they" were  persevered  with  even  till  the  time  of 
James  I.  Miracle-plays,  in  fact,  gradually  gave  way  to 
moral  plays,  which  presented  more  variety  of  situation  and 
character ;  and-  moral  plitys  in  turn  were  superseded  by  a 

a  play  in  -whit h  a  character  called  "  Colle,  clogger  of  Conscience,''  wu 
introduced,  to  he  <{rea.t  offence  of  the  Roman  Catholic  clergy. 


llv  HISTORY    OF    THE    ENGLISH    STAGE 

epecies  of  mixed  drama,  which  was  strictly  neither  moral 
play  nor  historical  play,  but  a  combination  of  both  in  the 
same  representation. 

Of  this  singular  union  of  discordant  materials,  no  person 
who  has  hitherto  written  upon  the  history  of  our  dramatic 
poetry  has  taken  due  notice ;  but  it  is  very  necessary  not  to 
pass  it  over,  inasmuch  as  it  may  be  said  to  have  led  ulti- 
mately to  the  introduction  of  tragedy,  comedy,  and  histoiy, 
as  we  now  understand  the  terms,  upon  the  boards  of  our 
public  theatres.  No  blame  for  the  omission  can  fairly  be 
imputed  to  our  predecessors,  because  the  earliest  specimens 
of  this  sort  of  mixed  drama  which  remain  to  us  have  been 
brought  to  light  within  a  comparatively  few  years.  The 
most  important  of  these  is  the  "  Kynge  Johan  "  of  Bishop 
Bale.  We  are  not  able  to  settle  with  precision  the  date 
when  it  was  originally  written,  but  it  was  evidently  per- 
formed, with  additions  and  alterations,  after  Elizabeth  came 
to  the  throne.1  The  purpose  of  the  author  was  to  promote 
the  Reformation,  by  applying  to  the  circumstances  of  his 
own  times  the  events  of  the  reign  of  King  John,  when  the 
kingdom  was  placed  by  the  Pope  under  an  interdict,  and 
when,  according  to  popular  belief,  the  sovereign  was  poisoned 
by  a  draught  administered  to  him  by  a  monk.  This  drama 
resembles  a  moral  play  in  the  introduction  of  abstract  im- 
personations, and  a  historical  play  in  the  adaptation  of  a 
portion  of  our  national  annals,  with  real  characters,  to  the 
purposes  of  the  stage.  Though  performed  in  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  we  may  carry  back  the  first  composition  and 
representation  of  "Kynge  Johan"  to  the  time  of  Edward 
V I. ;  but,  as  it  has  been  printed  by  the  Camden  Society,  it 
is  not  necessary  that  we  should  enlarge  upon  it 

The  object  of  Bale's  play  was,  as  we  have  stated,  to 

»  Bale  died  in  Nov.  15(53;  but  he  is  nevertheless  thus  spoken  of,  as 
•till  living,  in  B.  Googe's  "Eglogs,  Epitaphes,  and  Sonnettes,"  pub- 
ined,  we  have  reason  to  believe,  in  the  spring  of  that  year :  we  have 
never  seen  this  tribute  quoted,  and  therefore  subjoin  it. 
Good  aged  Bale,  that  -with  thy  hoary  heares 
Doste  yet  persyste  to  turne  the  paynefull  booka ; 
O  hapye,  man  !  that  hast  obtaynde  such  yeares, 
And  leav'st  not  yet  on  papers  pale  to  looke ; 
Gyve  over  now  to  beate  thy  weryed  braine. 
And  rest  thy  penne,  that  long  hath  laboured  score  : 
for  aged  men  unfyt  sure  is  suche  paine, 
And  thee  beseems  to  labour  now  no  more  : 
But  them,  I  thynke   Don  Platoes  part  will  playe, 
With  booke  in  hand  to  have  thy  dying  daye." 

BMidM  "  King  Johan,"  Bale  was  the  author  of  four  extant  dramatiu 
IOM,  which  may  be  looked  upon  as  miracle-plavs,  both  in  theii 
form  and  characters,  viz.  1.  "The  Three  Laws  of  Nature.  Moses  and 
Christ;"  2.  "God'g  Promises;"  3.  "John  the  Baptist;"  4  "Th« 
TVmpt»u,.n  of  CHri.-.."  He  also  wrote  fourteen  other  drama.' of  vari 
»u.  kind.,  none  of  which  have  come  down  to  us. 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  XV 

advance  the  Reformation  under  Edward  VI.;  but  in  the 
reign  of  his  successor  a  drama  of  a  similar  description,  and 
of  a  directly  opposite  tendency,  was  written  and  acted.  If 
has.  never  been  mentioned,  and  as  it  exists  only  in  manu- 
script of  the  time,1  it  will  not  be  out  of  place  to  quote  its 
title,  and  to  explain  briefly  in  what  manner  the  anonymous 
author  carries  out  his  design.  He  calls  his  drama  "  Res- 
publica," and  he  adds  that  it  was  "  made  in  the  year  of  our 
Lord  1553,  and  the  first  year  of  the  most  prosperous  reign 
of  our  most  gracious  Sovereign,  Queen  Mary  the  First." 
He  was  supposed  to  speak  the  prologue  himself,  in  the 
character  of  "a  Poet;"  and  although  everv  person  he  intro- 
duces is  in  fact  called  by  some  abstract  name,  he  avowedly 
brings  forward  the  Queen  herself  as  "  Nemesis,  the  Goddess" 
of  redress  and  correction,"  while  her  kingdom  of  England  is 
intended  by  "  Respublica,"  and  its  inhabitants  represented 
by  "  People :"  the  Reformation  in  the  Church  is  distinguished 
as  "  Oppression  ;"  and  Policy,  Authority,  and  Honesty,  are 
designated  "Avarice,"  "Insolence,"  and  "Adulation."  All 
this  is  distinctly  stated  by  the  author  on  his  title-page,  while 
he  also  employs  the  im personations  of  Misericordia,  Veri- 
tas,  Justitia,  and  Pax,  (agents  not  unfrequently  resorted  to 
in  the  older  miracle-plays)  as  the  friends  of  "  Nemesis,"  the 
Queen,  and  as  the  supporters  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion 
in  her  dominions. 

Nothing  would  be  gained  by  a  detail  of  the  import  of  the 
tedious  interlocutions  between  the  character,  represented 
it  would  seem,  by  boys,  who  were  perhaps  the  children  of 
the  Chapel  Royal ;  for  there  we  traces  in  the  performance 
that  it  was  originally  acted  at  court  Respublica  is  a  widow 
greatly  injured  and  abused  by  Avarice,  Insolence,  Oppres- 
sion, and  Adulation;  while  People,  using  throughout  a 
rustic  dialect,  also  complain  bitterly  of  their  sufferings, 
especially  since  the  introduction  of  what  had  been  termed 
"Reformation"  hi  mattei's  of  faith:  in  the  end  Justitia 
brings  in  Nemesis,  to  effect  a  total  change  by  restoring  the 
former  condition  of  religious  affairs ;  and  the  piece  closes 
with  the  delivery  of  the  offenders  to  condign  punishment. 
The  production  was  evidently  written  by  a  man  of  educa- 
tion ;  but,  although  there  are  many  attempts  at  humour, 
and  some  at  variety,  both  in  character  and  situation,  the 
whole  must  have  been  a  very  wearisome  performance 
adapted  to  please  the  court  by  its  general  tendency,  but 
little  calculated  to  accomplish  any  other  purpose  entertained 
by  the  writer.  In  all  respects  "it  is  much  inferior  to  the 

l  In  the  library  of  Mr.  Hudson  Gurney,  tc  whom  we  beg  t«  jxprest 
lur  obligations  foi  the  use  of  it 


X\rf  HISTORY    OF   THE    ENGLISH    STAGE 

«  Kynge  Johan"  of  Bale,  which  it  followed  in  point  of  date, 
and  to  which,  perhaps,  it  was  meant  to  be  a  counterpart 

In  the  midst  of  the  performance  of  dramatic  productions 
of  a  religious  or  political  character,  each  party  supporting 
the  views  which  most  accorded  with  the  author's  individual 
opinions,  John  Heywood,  who  was  a  zealous  Roman  Catho- 
lic, and  who  subsequently  suffered  for  his  creed  under 
Edward  VL  and  Elizabeth,  discovered  a  new  species  of 
entertainment,  of  a  highly  humorous,  and  not  altogether 
of  an  uuinstructive  kind ;  which  seems  to  have  been  very 
acceptable  to  the  sovereign  and  nobility,  and  to  have 
obtained  for  the  author  a  distinguished  character  as  a  court 
dramatist,  and  ample  rewards  as  a  court  dependent1 
These  were  properly  called  "  interludes,"  being  short  comic 
pieces,  represented  ordinarily  in  the  interval  between  the 
feast  and  the  banquet;  and  we  may  easily  believe  that 
they  had  considerable  influence  in  the  settlement  of  the 
form  which  our  stage-performances  ultimately  assumed. 
Heywood  does  not  appear  to  have  begun  writing  until 
after  Heiiry  VIIL  had  been  some  years  on  the  throne;  but, 
while  Skelton  was  composing  such  tedious  elaborations  as 
his  "  Magnificence,"  which,  without  any  improvement  merely 
curries  to  a  still  greater  length  of  absurdity  the  old  style 
of  moral  plays,  Heywood  was  writing  his  "  John  Tib  and 
Sir  John,"  his  "  Four  Ps,"  his  "  Pardoner  and  Friar,"  and 
pieces  of  that  description,  which  presented  both  variety  of 
matter  and  novelty  of  construction,  as  well  as  considerable 
wit  and  drollery  in  the  language.  He  was  a  very  original 
writer,  and  certainly  merits  more  admiration  than  any  of 
his  dramatic  contemporaries. 

To  the  commencement  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  we  may 
refer  several  theatrical  productions  which  make  approaches, 
more  or  less  near,  to  comedy,  tragedy,  and  history,  and  still 
retain  many  of  the  known  features  of  moral  plays.  "  Tom 
Tiler  aud  his  Wife"  is  a  comedy  in  its  incidents ;  but  the 
ftllegorical  personages,  Desire,  Destiny,  Strife,  and  Patience, 
connect  it  immediately  with  the  earlier  species  of  stage- 
entertainment  "  The  Conflict  of  Conscience,"  on  the  other 
hand,  is  a  tragedy  on  the  fate  of  an  historical  personage; 
but  Conscience,  Hypocrisy,  Avarice,  Horror,  <fcc.,  are  called 
in  aid  of  the  purpose  of  the  writer.  "  Appius  aud  Virginia" 
U  in  most  respects  a  history,  founded  upon  facts;  but 
Rumour,  Comfort,  and  Doctrine,  are  importantly  concerned 

"John  Heywood,  who  flourished  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  is  not 
confounded,  as  some  modern  editors  of  Shakespeare  have  con- 
ounded  him,  vnth  Thomas  Heywood,  who  became  a  dramatist  more 
than  half  a  century  afterwards,  and  who  continued  a  writer  for  th« 
tUge  unt.l  near  the  date  of  the  closing  of  the  theatres  by  the  Pnntans. 
tohn  Heywood,  in  all  probability,  died  before  Thoma»  Heywood  wa.  born 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  XVII 

in  the  representation.  These,  and  other  productions  of  the 
same  class,  which  it  is  not  necessary  to  particularize,  show 
the  gradual  advances  made  towards  a  better,  because  a 
more  natural,  species  of  theatrical  composition.'  Into  miracle- 
plays  were  gradually  introduced  allegorical  personages,  who 
filially  usurped  the  whole  stage ;  while  they  in  tuni  yielded 
to  real  and  historical  charsctei-s,  at  first  only  intended  to 
give  variety  to  abstract  impersonations.  Hence  the  origin 
of  comedy,  tragedy,  and  historv,  such  as  we  find  them  io 
the  works  of  Shakespeare,  and^  of  some  of  his  immediate 
predecessors. 

What  is  justly  to  be  considered  the  oldest  known  comedy 
in  our  language  is  of  a  date  not  much  posterior  to  the  reign 
of  Henry  V1IL,  if,  indeed,  it  were  not  composed  while  he 
was  on  "the  throne.  It  has  the  title  of  "  Ralph  Roister 
Doister,"  and  it  was  written  by  Nicholas  Udall,  who  was 
master  of  Eton  school  in  1540,  and  who  died  in  1557.a  It 
is  on  every  account  a  very  remarkable  performance;  and 
as  the  scene  is  laid  in  London,  it  affords  a  curious  picture 
of  metropolitan  manners.  The  regularity  of  its  construction, 
even  at  that  early  date,  may  be  gathered  from  tbe  fact, 
that  in  the  single  copy  which  has  descended  to  us3  it  is 
divided  into  acts  and  scenes.  The  story  is  one  of  common, 
every-day  life  ;  and  none  of  the  character  are  such  as  peo- 
ple had  been  accustomed  to  find  in  ordinary  dramatic  enter- 
tainments. The  piece  takes  its  name  from  ita  hero,  a  young 
town-gallant,  who  is  mightily  enamoured  of  himself,  and 
who  is  encouraged  in  the  good  opinion  he  entertains  of  his 
own  person  and  accomplishments  by  Matthew  Merrygreek. 
a  poor  relation,  who  attends  him  in  the  double  capacity  of 
companion  and  servant  Ralph  Roister  Doister  is  in  love 
with  a  lady  of  property,  called  distance,  betrothed  to 
Gawiu  Goodluck,  a  merchant,  who  is  at  sea  when  the 
comedy  begins,  but  who  returns  before  it  concludes.  The 
main  incidents  relate  to  the  mode  in  which  the  hero,  with 

1  One  of  the  latest  pieces  without  mixture  of  history  or  fable,  and 
consisting  wholly  of  abstract  personages,  is,  "  The  Tide  tarryeth  n: 
Man,"  by  George  Wapul,  printed  in  1570  :  only  a  single  copy  of  it  has 
been  preserved,  and  that  is  in  the  library  of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire. 
The  principal  persons  introduced  into  it  have  the  following  names:— 
Painted-profit,  No-good-neighbourhood,  Wastefulness,  Christianity, 
Correction,  Courage,  Beigned-furtherance,  Greediness,  Wantonness, 
and  Authority-in-despair. 

*  A  very  interesting  epistle  from  Udall  is  to  be  fonnd  in  S.'r  Henry 
Kllis's  volume  (edited  for  the  Camden  Society)  "  Original  Letters  of 
Eminent  Literary  Men."  That  of  Udall  is  first  in  the  series. 

3  This  single  copy  is  without  title-page,  so  that  the  yar  when  it  wai 
printeu  cannot  be  ascertained  ;  but  Thomas  llacket  hasl  a  license  in 
15(56  for  the  publication  of  "a  play  entitled  Rauf  Ruyster  Duster,"  ai 
it  is  called  on  the  registers  of  the  Stationers'  company.  We  may  p-e- 
lume  that  it  -was  published  in  that  year,  or  in  the  next. 


Xviii          HISTORY    OF    THE    ENGLISH    STAGE. 

the  treacherous  help  of  his  associate,  endeavours  to  gain 
the  affections  of  Custance.  He  writes  her  a  letter,  which 
Merrygreek  reads  without  a  due  observance  of  the  punctua 
tion,  so  that  it  entirely  perverts  the  meaning  of  the  writer  • 
he  visits  her  while  she  is  surrounded  by  her  female  domes- 
tics, but  he  is  unceremoniously  rejected:  he  resolves  to 
carry  her  by  force  of  arms,  and  makes  an  assault  upon  her 
habitation;  but  with  the  assistance  of  her  maids,  arnieu 
with  mops  and  brooms,  she  drives  him  from  the  attack. 
Then,  her  betrothed  lover  returns,  who  has  been  misinformed 
on  the  subject  of  her  fidelity,  but  he  is  soon  reconciled  ou 
an  explanation  of  the  facts;  and  Ralph  Roister  Doister, 
finding  that  he  has  no  chance  of  success,  and  that  he  has 
wily  been  cajoled  and  laughed  at,  makes  up  hi?  mind  to  be 
merry  at  the  wedding  of  Goodluck  and  Custance. 

In  all  this  we  have  no  trace  of  anything  like  a  moral 
play,  with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  the  character  of 
Matthew  Merrygreek,  which,  in  some  of  its  features,  its 
love  of  mischief  and  its  drollery,  bears  a  resemblance  to 
the  Vice  of  the  older  drama.'  Were  the  dialogue  modern- 
ised, the  comedy  might  be  performed,  even  in  our  own 
day,  to  the  satisfaction  of  many  of  the  usual  attendants  at 
our  theatres. 

In  considering  the  merits  of  this  piece,  we  are  to  recollect 
that  Bishop  Still's  "  Gammer  Gurton's  Needle,"  which,  until 
of  late,  was  held  to  be  our  earliest  comedy,  was  written 
Borne  twenty  years  after  "  Ralph  Roister  Doister :"  it  was 
not  acted  at  Cambridge  until  1566,  nine  years  subsequent 
to  the  death  of  Udull;  and  it  is  in  eveiy  point  of  view  an 
inferior  production.  The  plot  is  a  mere  piece  of  absurdity, 
the  language  is  provincial  (well  fitted,  indeed,  to  the  country 
where  the  scene  is  laid,  and  to  the  clownish  persons  engaged 
in  it^  and  the  manners  depicted  are  chiefly  those  of  illiterate 
rustics.  The  story,  such  as  it  is,  relates  to  the  loss  of  a  needle 
with  which  Gammer  Gurton  had  mended  Hodge's  breeches, 
and  which  is  afterwards  found  by  the  hero,  when  he  is  about 
to  sit  down.  The  humour,  generally  speaking,  is  as  coarse 
as  the  dialogue ;  and  though  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that 

1  By  "  the  older  drama,"  we  mean  moral  plays,  into  which  the  Vic* 
was  introduced  for  the  amusement  of  the  spectators :  no  charactei  so 
eV.ied,  or  with  similar  propensities,  is  to  be  traced  in  miracle-plays. 
He  was,  in  fact,  ihe  buffoon  of  our  drama  in,  what  may  be  termed,  its 
bend  stage ;  after  audiences  began  to  grow  weary  of  plays  founded 
uyxm  Pcripture-histnry,  and  when  even  moral  plays,  in  order  to  be 
rclnhed,  required  the  insertion  of  a  character  of  broad  humour,  and 
vicious  inclinations,  who  was  sometimes  to  be  the  companion,  and  at 
other*,  the  castigator,  of  the  devil,  who  represented  the  principle  of  evil 
unoiif;  mankind.  The  Vice  of  moral  plays  subsequently  became  the 
ool  and  jester  of  comedy,  tragedy,  and  history,  and  forms  another,  and 
Mi  important,  link  of  connexion  between  them. 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  XIX 

the  author  was  a  man  of  talents,  they  were  harcLy  such  aa 
could  hare  produced  "  Ralph  Roister  Doister." 

The  drama  which  we  have  been  accustomed  to  regard  as 
our  oldest  tragedy,  and  which  probably  has  a  just  claim 
to  the  distinction,  was  acted  on  18th  January,  1562,  and 
piinted  in  1565.1  It  was  originally  called  "Gorboduc;"  but 
it  was  reprinted  in  1571  under  the  title  of  "Forrex  and 
Porrex,"  and  a  third  tune  in  1590  as  "  Gorboduc."  The  first 
three  acts  were  written  by  Thomas  Norton,  and  the  last  two 
by  Thomas  Sackville,.  afterwards  Earl  of  Dorset,  and  it 
was  pel-formed  "  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  Inner  Temple." 
Although  the  form  of  the  Greek  drama  is  observed  in 
"  Gorboduc,"  and  each  act  concluded  by  a  chorus,  yet  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  who  admitted  (in  his  "  Apology  of  Poetry") 
that  it  was  "full  of  stately  speeches  and  well-sounding 
phrases,"  could  not  avoid  complaining  that  the  unities  of 
time  and  place  had  been  disregarded.  Thus,  in  the  very 
outset  and  origin  of  our  stage,  as  regards  what  may  be 
termed  the  regular  drama,  the  liberty,  which  allowed  full 
exercise  to  the  imagination  of  the  audience,  and  which  was 
afterwards  happily  carried  to  a  greater  excess,  was  distinctly 
asserted  aud  maintained.  It  is  also  to  be  remarked,  that 
"  Gorboduc"  is  the  earliest  known  play  in  our  language  in 
which  blank-verse  was  employed  ;2  but  of  the  introduction 
of  blank-verse  upon  our  public  stage,  we  shall  have  occasion 
to  speak  hereafter.  It  was  an  important  change,  which 
requires  to  be  separately  considered. 

We  have  now  entered  upon  the  reign  of  Elizabeth ;  and 
although,  as  already  observed,  moral  plavs  and  even  miracle- 
plays  were  still  acted,  we  shall  soon  see  what  a  variety  of 
subjects,  taken  from  ancient  history,  from  mythology,  fable, 
and  romance,  were  employed  for  the  purposes  of  the  drama. 

i  In  the  Hist,  of  Engl.  Dram.  Poetry  and  the  Stage.  11.  4-2.  it  is  said 
'hat  the  earliest  edition  of  "  Gorboduc"  has  no  date.  This  is  a  mistake 
as  is  shown  by  the  copy  in  the  collection  of  Lord  Francis  Egerton, 
which  has  "anno  1565,  Septemb.  22"  at  the  bottom  of  the  title-pag« 
Mr.  Hallam,  in  his  admirable  "Introduction  to  the  Literature  of 
Europe,"  &c.  (Second  Edit.  vol.  ii.  p.  167),  expresses  his  dissent  from 
the  position,  that  the  three  first  acts  were  by  Norton,  and  the  tu-o  last 
by  Sackville.  The  old  title-page  states,  that  "  three  acts  were  written 
by  Thomas  Norton,  and  the  two  last  by  Thomas  Sackville."  Unles* 
the  printer,  William  Griffith,  were  misinformed,  this  seems  decisive. 
Norton's  abilities  have  not  had  justice  done  to  them. 

*  Richard  Edwards,  a  very  distinguished  dramatic  poet,  who  died  in 
1500.  and  who  wrote  the  lost  play  of  "Palamon  and  Arcite,"  which 
was  acted  before  the  Queen  in  September  of  that  year,  did  not  follow 
thr  example  of  Sackville  and  Norton  :  his  "Damon  and  Pithias"  (the 
enly  piece  by  him  that  has  survived)  is  in  rhyme.  See  T>cds:ey's  Old 
Piays,  last  edition,  vol.  i.p.177.  Thomas  Twine,  an  actor  in  "  1'ji.imrn 
and  Arcite,"  wrote  an  epitaph  upon  its  author.  "  Gammer  Gurtpn'i 
Needle,"  and  "  Gorboduc;"  (the  last  printed  from  the  second  edition} 
ire  also  inserted  in  vols.  i.  and  ii.  of  Dodslers  Old  PliT8. 


XX  HISTORY    OF    THE    ENGLISH    STAGE 

Stephen  Gosson,  one  of  the  earliest  enemies  of  theatrics 
performances,  writing  his  "  Plays  confuted  in  Five  Actions' 
a  little  after  the  period  of  which  we  are  now  speaking,  but 
adverting  to  the  drama  as  it  had  existed  some  years  before, 
tells  us,  that  "  the  Palace  of  Pleasure,  the  Gold*>u  Ass,  the 
./Ethiopian  History,  Aniadis  of  France,  and  the  Round 
Table,"  as  well  as  "  comedies  in  Latin,  French,  Italian,  ano 
Spanish,  have  been  thoroughly  ransacked  to  furnish  the 
play-houses  in  London."  Hence,  unquestionably,  many  of 
the  materials  of  what  is  termed  our  romantic  drama  were 
obtained.  The  accounts  of  the  Master  of  the  Revels  between 
1570  and  1580  contain  the  names  of  various  plays  repre- 
sented at  court ;  and  it  is  to  be  noted,  that  it  was  certainly 
the  practice  at  a  later  date,  and  it  was  probably  the  prac- 
tice at  the  time  to  which  we  are  now  adverting,  to  select 
for  performance  before  the  Queen  such  pieces  as  were  most 
in  favour  with  public  audiences :  consequently  the  mention 
of  a  few  of  the  titles  of  productions  represented  before 
Elizabeth  at  Greenwich,  Whitehall,  Richmond,  or  Nonesuch, 
will  show  the  character  of  the  popular  performances  of  the 
day.  We  derive  the  following  names  from  Mr.  P.  Cunning- 
ham's "  Extracts  from  the  Revels'  Accounts,"  printed  for  the 
Shakespeare  Society : — 


Lady  Barbara. 
Iphigenia. 
Ajux  and  Ulysses. 
Narcissus. 
Paris  and  Vienna. 
The  Play  of  Fortune. 
Alcuiffion. 
Qtiintus  Fabius. 
Timoclen  at  the  Siege  of  Thebes. 
Perseus  and  Andromeda. 
The  Painter's  Daughter. 
The  History  of  the  Collier. 

Mutius  ScsDvola. 
Portio  and  Demorantes. 
Titus  and  Gisippus. 
Three  Sisters  of  Mantua. 
Cruelty  of  a  Stepmother. 
The  Greek  Muid. 
Rape  of  the  second  Helen. 
The  Four  Sous  of  Fabius. 
History  of  Sarpedon. 
Murderous  Michael. 
Scipio  African  us. 
The  Duke  of  Milan. 

The  History  of  Error. 

These  are  only  a  few  out  of  many  dramas,  establishing  th«, 

multiplicity  of  sources  to  which  the  poets  of  the  tim- 

ted.     Nevertheless,  we  find  on  the  same  indisputable 

.wJi!"'  Playu0f,  Fortune-"  in  the  above  list,  is  doubtless  the  piece 
Lev*  »n?  r,         "V"  a  Prillted  shaPe.  as  ''The  Rare  Triumphs  of 
,->..,  V',    ,T, :    '*  Was  acted  at  court  M  ear'y  as  1573,  and  again 
it  did  not  come  from  the  press  until  1580.  and  the  only 
K  library  of  Lord  Francis  Egorton.     The  purpose  of 
n'l^"  ",'i,!." '.''^."'  I'"*"  to  comP°s«  an  entertainment  which  should 
loi  variety,  with  as  much  show  as  could  at 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  XX) 

Authority,  that  moral  plays  were  not  yet  altogether  dis- 
carded in  the  court  entertainments ;  for  we  read,  in  the 
original  records,  of  productions  the  titles  of  -which  prove 
that  they  -were  pieces  of  that  allegorical  description . 
among  these  arc  ''  Truth,  Faithfulness,  and  Mercv,"  and 
"  The  Marriage  of  Mind  and  Measure,"  -which  is  expressly 
called  "  a  moral." 

Our  main  object  in  referring  to  these  pieces  has  been  to 
show  the  great  diversity  of  subjects  which  had  been  drama- 
tised before  1580.  In  1581  Barnabe  Rich  published  his 
**  Farewell  to  Military  Profession,"1  consisting  of  a  collection 
of  eight  novels ;  and  "jit  the  close  of  the  work  he  inserts  this 
strange  address  "to  the  reader:" — "  Now  tliou  hast  perused 
these  histories  to  the  end,  I  doubt  not  but  thou  wilt  deem 
of  them  as  they  worthily  deserve,  and  think  such  vanities 
more  fitter  to  be  presented  on  a  stage  (as  some  of  them 
have  been)  than  to  be  published  in  print."  The  fact  is,  that 
three  dramas  are  extant  which  more  or  less  closely  resem- 
ble three  of  Rich's  novels:  one  of  them  "Twelfth  Night? 
another,  "The  Weakest  goeth  to  the  Wall;"  and  the  third 
the  old  play  of  "  Philotus"."2 

Upon  the  manner  in  which  the  materials  thus  procured 
were  then  handled,  we  have  several  contemporaneous 
authorities.  George  Whetstone,  (an  author  who  has  prin- 
cipally acquired  celebrity  by  writing  an  earlier  drama  upon 
the  incidents  employed  by  Shakespeare  in  his  "Measure 
for  Measure")  in  the  dedication  of  his  "  Promos  and  Cassan- 
dra," gives  a  compendious  description  of  the  nature  of  popu- 
lar theatrical  representations  in  1578.  "  The  Englishman 
(he  remarks)  in  this  quality  is  most  vain,  indiscreet,  and  out 
of  order.  He  first  grounds  his  work  on  impossibilities ; 
then,  in  three  hours,  runs  he  through  the  world,  marries,  gets 
children,  makes  children  men,  men  to  conquer  kingdoms, 
murder  monsters,  and  bringeth  gods  from  heaven,  and 
fetcheth  devils  from  hell :  and,  that  which  is  worst,  their 
ground  is  not  so  unperfect  as  their  working  indiscreet ;  not 
weighing,  so  the  people  laugh,  though  they  laug>  them  for 
their  follies  to  scorn.  Many  times,  to  make  mirth,  they 
make  a  clown  companion  with  a  king :  in  their  grave  coun- 
cils they  allow  the  advice  of  fools ;  yea,  they  use  one  order 

quently  known  and  printed  as  "  Grim,  the  Collier  of  Croydon ;"  and  it 
has  been  reasonably  supposed,  that  "The  History  of  Error"  was  an  old 
play  on  the  same  subject  as  Shakespeare's  "  Comedy  of  Errors." 

i  Until  recently  no  edition  of  an  earlier  date  than  that  of  1GOT.  wa» 
known  ;  but  there  is  an  impression  of  1.561  at  Oxford,  which  is  about 
to  be  reprinted  by  the  Shakespeare  Society.  Malone  had  heard  of  a 
copy  in  1583.  but  it  is  certainly  a  mistake. 

*  It  was  reprinted  for  the  Bannatyna  Club  in  1&35,  by  J.  W.  Mack 
euzie.  Esq. 


XXii  HISTORY    OF    THE    ENGLISH    8TAGR 

of  speech  for  all  persons,  a  gross  indecorum."  This,  it  will 
be  perceived,  is  an  accurate  account  of  the  ordinary  license 
taken  in  our  romantic  drama,  and  of  the  reliance  of  poets, 
long  before  the  time  of  Shakespeare,  upon  the  imaginations 
of  their  auditors. 

To  the  same  effect  we  may  quote  a  work  by  Stephen 
Gosson,  to  which  we  have  before  been  indebted, — "  Plays 
confuted  in  Five  Actions," — which  must  have  been  printed 
about  1580 : — "  If  a  true  history  (says  Gosson)  be  token'in 
hand,  it  is  made,  like  our  shadows,  longest  at  the  risitg  and 
falling  of  the  sun,  shortest  of  all  at  high  noon ;  for  the  poets 
drive  it  commonly  unto  such  points,  as  may  best  show  the 
majesty  of  their  pen  in  tragical  speeches,  or  set  the  hearers 
agog  with  discourses  of  love ;  or  paint  a  few  anticss  to  fit 
their  own  humours  with  scoffs  and  taunts ;  or  bring  in  a 
show,  to  furnish  the  stage  when  it  is  bare."  Again,  speak- 
ing of  plays  professedly  founded  upon  romance,  and  not 
upon  "true  history,"  he  remarks:  "Sometimes  you  shall 
see  nothing  but  the  adventures  of  an  amorous  knight,  pass- 
ing from  country  to  country  for  the  love  of  his  lady,  encoun- 
tering many  a  terrible  monster,  made  of  brown  paper,  and 
at  his  return  is  so  wonderfully  changed,  that  he  cannot  be 
known  but  by  some  posy  in  his  tablet,  or  by  a  broken  ring, 
or  a  handkerchief,  or  a  piece  of  cockle-shell."  We  can 
hardly  doubfthat  when  Gosson  wrote  this  passage  he  had 
particular  productions  in  his  mind,  and  several  of  the  cha- 
racter he  describes  are  still  extant. 

Sir  Philip  Sidney  is  believed  to  have  written  his  "Apology 
of  Poetry"  in  1583,  and  we  have  already  referred  to  it  in 
connexion  with  "  Gorboduc."  His  observations,  upon  the 
general  character  of  dramatic  representations  in  his  time, 
throw  much  light  on  the  state  of  the  stage  a  very  few 
years  before  Shakespeare  is  supposed  to  have  quitted 
Stratford-upon-Avon,  and  attached  himself  to  a  theatrical 
company.  "  Our  tragedies  and  comedies  (says  Sidney)  are 
not  without  cause  cried  out  against,  observing  neither  rules 

of  honest  civility,  nor  skilful  poetry But  if  it  be  so 

in  Gorboduc,  how  much  more  in  all  the  rest,  where  you 
Bhall  have  Asia  of  the  one  side,  and  Afric  of  the  other,  and 
BO  many  other  under-kingdoms,  that  the  player,  whec  he 
•.•••mi's  in,  must  ever  begin  with  telling  where  he  is,  or  else 
the  t;il«;  will  not  be  conceived.  Now  you  shall  have  three 
Udiec  walk  to  gather  flowers,  and  then  we  must  believe 
the  stage  to  be  a  garden:  by  and  by  we  hear  news  of  a 
shipwreck  in  the  same  place ;  then,  we  are  to  blame  if  we 
accent  it  not  for  a  rock.  Upon  the  buck  of  that  comes  out 
a  hideous  monster  with  fire  and  smoke,  and  then  the  miser- 
»Me  beholders  are  bound  to  take  it  for  a  cave;  while,  in 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  XXI 11 

(he  meantime,  two  armies  fly  in,  represented  with  four 
swords  and  bucklers,  and  then  what  hard  heart  will  not 
receive  it  for  a  pitched  field  ?  Now,  of  time  they  are  much 
more  liberal ;  for  ordinary  it  is  that  two  young  princes  fall 
in  love:  after  many  traverses  she  is  got  with  child,  delivered 
of  a  fair  boy;  he  is  U-st,  groweth  a  man,  falleth  in  Live,  and 
is  ready  to  get  another  child,  and  all  this  in  two  hours' 
space :  which  how  absurd  it  is  in  sense,  even  sense  may 
imagine,  and  art  hath  taught,  and  all  ancient  examples  justi- 
fied." He  afterwards  comes  to  a  point  previously  urged  by 
Whetstone ;  for  Sidney  complains  that  plays  were  "  neither 
right  tragedies  nor  right  comedies,  mingling  kings  and 
clowns,  not  because  the  matter  so  carrieth  it,  but  thrust  in 
the  clown  by  head  and  shoulders,  to  play  a  part  in  majesti- 
cal  matters  with  neither  decency  nor  discretion ;  so  as  neither 
the  admiration  and  commiseration,  nor  light  sportfulness  is 
by  their  mongrel  tragi-comedy  obtained." 

It  will  be  remarked  that,  with  the  exception  of  the 
instance  of  "  Gorboduc,"  no  writer  we  have  had  occasion  to 
cite  mentions  the  English  Chronicles,  as  having  yet  furnished 
dramatists  with  stories  for  the  stage ;  and  we  may  perhaps 
infer  that  resort  was  not  had  to  them,  for  the  purposes  of  tie 
pubh'c  theatres,  until  after  the  date  of  which  we  are  now 
speaking. 

Having  thus  briefly  adverted  to  the  nature  and  character 
of  dramatic  representations  from  the  earliest  times  to  the 
year  1583,  and  having  established  that  our  romantic  drama 
was  of  ancient  origin,  it  is  necessary  shortly  to  describe  the 
circumstances  under  which  plays  "were  at  different  early 
periods  performed. 

There  were  no  regular  theatres,  or  buildings  permanently 
constructed  for  the  purposes  of  the  drama,  until  .after  1576 
Miracle-plays  were  sometimes  exhibited  in  churches  and  in 
the  halls  of  corporations,  but  more  frequently  upon  move- 
able  stages,  or  scaffolds,  erected  in  the  open  air.  Moral 
plays  were  subsequently  performed  under  nearly  similar 
circumstances,  excepting  that  a  practice  had  grown  up, 
among  the  nobility  and  wealthier  gentry,  of  having  dramatic 
entertainments  at  particular  seasons  in  their  own  residences.1 
These  were  sometimes  performed  by  a  company  of  actors 
retained  in  the  family,  and  sometimes  by  itinerant  players,* 

1  As  early  as  1465  a  company  of  players  had  performed  at  the  wed- 
ding of  a  person  of  the  name  of  Molines,  "who  was  nearly  related  to 
Sir  John  Howard,  afterwards  Duke  of  Norfolk.     See  "  Manners  ard 
Household,  Expenses  of  England,"  printed  by  Mr.  Botfield,  M.  P.,  for 
the  Roxburshe  Club  in  1=41,  p.  511. 

2  The  anonymous  MS.  play  of  "  Sir  Thomas  More,"  -written  towards 
the  close  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  gives  a  very  correct  notion  of  the 
mode  in  which  offers  to  perform  were  made  by  a  comply  of  players, 


Xx'lV  HISTORY    OF   THE    ENGLISH    STAGE 

who  belonged  to  large  towns,  or  -who  called  themselves  'Ji* 
servants  of  members  of  the  aristocracy.  In  14  Eliz.  an  net 
was  passed  allowing  strolling  actors  to  perform,  if  licensed 
by  some  baron  or  nobleman  of  higher  degree,  but  subjecting 
all  others  to  the  penalties  inflicted  upon  vagrants.  There- 
fore, although  many  companies  of  players  went  round  the 
country,  and  acted  as  the  servants  of  some  of  the  nobility, 
they  had  no  legislative  protection  until  1572.  It  is  a  singu- 
lar fact,  that  the  earliest  kuown  company  of  players,  travel- 
ling under  the  name  and  patronage  of  one  of  the  nobility, 
was  that  of  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  afterwards  Richard 
III.1  Henry  VII.  had  two  distinct  bodies  of  "actors  of 
interludes"  in  his  pay,  and  from  henceforward  the  profession 
of  a  player  became  well  tuidei-stood  and  recognized.  In  the 
later  part  of  the  reign  of  Heuiy  VII.,  the  players  of  the 
Dukes  of  Norfolk  and  Buckingham,  and  of  the  Earls  of 
Aruudel,  Oxford,  and  Northumberland,  performed  at  court 
About  this  period,  and  somewhat  earlier,  we  also  hear  of 
companies  attached  to  particular  places ;  and  iu  coeval 
records  we  read  of  the  players  of  York,  Coventry.  Laven- 
ham,  Wy  combe,  Chester,  Manningtree,  Evesharn,  Mile-end, 
Kingston,  Ac. 

In  the  reign  of  Henry  VIIL,  and  perhaps  in  that  of  hia 
predecessor,  the  gentlemen  and  singing-boys  of  the  Chapel 
Royal  were  employed  to  act  plays  and  interludes  before 
the  court ;  and  afterwards  the  children  of  Westminster,  St, 
Paul's,  and  Windsor,  under  their  several  masters,  are  not 
unfrequently  mentioned  in  the  household  books  of  the 
palace,  and  in  the  accounts  of  the  department  of  the  revels* 


and  accepted  by  the  owner  of  the  mansion.  Four  players  and  a  boy 
(for  the  female  characters)  tender  their  services  to  the  Lord  Chancel- 
lor, just  as  he  is  on  the  point  of  giving  a  grand  supper  to  the  Lord 
Mayor  and  Corporation  of  London  :  Sir  Thomas  More  inquires  what 
pieces  they  can  perform,  and  the  answer  of  the  leader  of  the  company 
supplies  the  names  of  seven  which  were'  then  popular ;  viz.,  '•  The 
Cradle  of  Security  "  "  Hit  Nail  on  the  Head,"  "Impatient  Poverty," 
"  The  Four  }%"  "  bivps  and  Lazarus,"  "Lusty  Jnventus,"  and  "  "f  he 
Marriage  of  Wit  and  Wisdom."  Sir  Thomas  More  fixes  upon  the  las:, 
and  it  is  accordingly  represented,  as  a  play  within  a  play,  before  the 
banquet.  "  Sir  Thomas  More  "  was  regularly  licensed  for  public  per- 
formance. 

1  Either  from  preference  or  policy,  Richard  III.  appears  to  naT» 
been  a  great  encourager  of  actors  and  musicians  :  besides  his  players, 
he  patronized  two  distinct  bodies  of  -'minstrels."  and  performe-s  on 
instruments  called  "  shalms."  These  facts  are  derived  from  a  manu- 
•cript  of  the  household-book  of  John  Lord  Howard,  afterwards  duke  of 
Nortolk,  preserved  in  the  library  of  the  Society  of  Antiquaries,  and 
recently  printed  for  the  use  of  the  members  of  the  Roxburghe  CJub, 
a»  a  sequel  to  Mr.  Botfield's  volume. 

•At  a  considerably  subsequent  date  some  of  these  infant  companies 
perlormed  before  general  audiences;  and  to  them  were  added  the 

hildren  of  the  Revels,  who  had  never  been  attached  to  any  religious 
•stabushment,  but  were  chiefly  encouraged  as  a  nursery  for  actors. 
The  Queen  of  James  I.  had  also  a  company  of  theatrical  childrec 
Jnder  her  patronage 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKKSPEARE.  AXV 

In  1514  the  king  added  a  new  company  to  the  dramatic 
retinue  of  the  court,  besides  the  two  companies  which  had 
been  paid  by  liis  father,  and  the  associations  of  theatrical 
children.  In  fact,  at  this  period  dramatic  entertainments, 
masques,  disguisings,  and  revels  of  every  description,  were 
carried  to  a  costly  excess.  Hemy  VIII.  raised  the  sum, 
until  then  paid  for  a  play,  from  6/.  13s.  4d.  to  Wl.  Willian 
'^oi-nyshe,  the  master  of  the  children  of  the  chapel,  on  on 
occa.-iou  was  paid  no  less  a  sum  than  200/..  in  the  money  of 
that  time,  by  way  of  reward ;  and  John  Heywood,  the  authoi 
of  interludes  before  mentioned,  who  was  also  a  player  upon 
the  virginals,  had  a  salary  of  20/.  per  annum,  in  addition  to 
his  other  emoluments.  During  seasons  of  festivity  a  Lord 
of  Misrule  was  regularly  appointed  to  superintend  the 
sports,  and  he  also  was  separately  and  libe rally  remune- 
rated. The  example  of  the  court  was  followed  by  the 
courtiers,  and  the  companies  of  theatrical  retainers,  in  the 
pay,  or  acting  in  various  parts  of  the  kingdom  under  the 
names  of  particular  noblemen,  became  extremely  numerous. 
Religious  houses  gave  them  encouragement,  and  even  assisted 
in  the  getting  up  and  representation  of  the  performances, 
espp'.'ially  shortly  before  the  dissolution  of  the  monasteries : 
in  inr  account-book  of  the  Prior  of  Dunmow,  between 
March  1532  and  July  1536,  we  find  entries  of  payments 
t<>  Lords  of  Misrule  there  appointed,  as  well  as  to  the  players 
of  the  King,  and  of  the  Earls  of  Derby,  Exeter,  and  Sussex' 

In  1543  was  passed  a  statute,  rendered  necessary  by  the 
polemical  character  of  some  of  the  dramas  publicly  repre- 
sented, although,  not  many  years  before,  the  king  had  him- 
self encouraged  such  performances  at  court,  bv  being  present 
at  a  play  in  which  Luther  and  his  wife  were  ridiculed/  The 

1  For  this  information  we  are  indebted  to  Sir  N.  H.  Nicholas,  -who 
has  the  original  document  in  his  library.  Similar  facts  might  be 
establisned  irom  other  authorities,  both  of  an  earlier  and  somewhat 
'.ater  date. 

»  See  Hist,  of  Engl  Dram.  Poetry  and  the  Stage.  Vol.  i  p.  107. 
T)  e  official  account,  made  out  by  Richard  Gibson,  who  had  the  prepa- 
ra.ion  of  tha  dresses,  &c.,  is  so  curious  and  characteristic,  tha  we 
qi  ote  it  in  the  words,  though  not  in  the  uncouth  orthography,  o  the 
original  document  :  the  date  is  the  10th  Nov.  15'2S,  not  long  befor  the 
kins  saw  reason  to  change  the  whole  course  of  his  policy  as  regarded 
the  Reformation. 

"Tie  king's  pleasure  was  that  at  the  said  revels,  by  clerks  i  the 
Latin  tongue,  should  he  played  in  his  presence  a  play,  whereof  nsu- 
eth  the  names.  First  an  Orator  in  apparel  of  gold  ;  a  Poet  in  apparel 
of  cloth  of  gold  ;  Religion,  Ecclesia,  Veritas,  like  three  NovieeB,  in 
garments  of  siik.  and  veils  of  lawn  and  cypress  :  Heiesy,  False-inter- 
pretation, Corruptio-scriptoris,  like  ladies  of  Bohemia,  apparelled  in 
garments  of  silk  of  divers  colours;  the  heretic  Luther,  like  a.  party 
friar,  in  russet,  damask  and  black  taffeta ;  Luthers  wife,  like  a  frow 
of  Spiers  in  Almain,  in  red  silk ;  Peter.  Paul,  and  James,  in  three 
ha'-iir*  of -white  sarsenet  and  three  red  mantles,  and  hair*  of  si'ver  af 


XXVI  HISTORY    OF    TUB    ENGLISH    STAGE 

act  prohibits  "  ballads,  plays,  rhymes,  songs,  and  other  fan- 
tasies" of  a  religious  or  doctrinal  tendency,  but  at  the  same 
time  carefully  provides,  tluit  the  clauses  shall  not  extend  tc 
••CMS,  plays,  and  interludes"  which  had  for  object  "the 
rebuking  and  reproaching  of  vices,  and  the  setting  forth  of 
virtue  ;  so  always  the  said  songs,  plays,  or  interludes  med- 
dle not  with  the  interpretations  of  Scripture." 

The  permanent  office  of  Master  of  the  Revels,  for  the 
superintendence  of  all  dramatic  performances,  was  created 
in  1546,  and  Sir  Thomas  Cawarden  was  appointed  to  it  with 
an  annual  salary  of  Wl.  A  person  of  the  name  of  Johii 
Bernard  was  made  Clerk  of  the  Revels,  with  an  allowance 
of  &/.  per  day  and  livery1. 

It  is  a  remarkable  point,  established  by  Mr.  Tytler",  that 
Henry  VIIL  was  not  yet  buried,  and  Bishop  Gardiner  and 
his  pai-ishioners  were  about  to  sing  a  dirge  for  his  soul, 
when  the  actors  of  the  Earl  of  Oxford  posted  bills  for  the 
performance  of  a  play  in  Southwark.  This  was  long  before 
the  construction  of  any  regular  theatre  on  the  Bankside  ; 
but  it  shows  at  how  early  a  date  that  part  of  the  town  was 
selected  for  such  exhibitions.  When  Mr.  Tytler  adds,  that 
the  players  of  the  Earl  of  Oxford  were  "  the  first  that  were 
kept  by  any  nobleman,"  he  falls  into  an  error,  because 
Richard  III,  and  others  of  the  nobility,  as  already  remark- 
ed, had  companies  of  players  attached  to  their  households. 
We  have  the  evidence  of  Putteuham,  in  his  "  Art  of  English 
Poesie,"  1589,  for  stating  that  the  Earl  of  Oxford,  under 
whose  name  the  players  in  1547  were  about  to  perform, 
was  himself  a  dramatist 

Very  soon  after  Edward  VI.  came  to  the  throne,  severe 
measures  were  taken  to  restrain  not  only  dramatic  per- 

damask  and  pelerines  of  scarlet,  and  a  cardinal  in  his  apparel  ;  two 
Sergeants  in  rich  apparel  ;  the  Dauphin  and  his  brother  in  coats  of 
velvet  embroidered  with  gold,  and  eaps  of  satin  bound  with  velvet  ;  a 
Messenger  in  tinsel-satin  ;  six  men  in  gowns  of  green  sarsenet  ;  six 
women  in  gowns  of  crimson  sarsenet  ;  War  in  rich  cloth  of  gold  and 
feathers,  and  armed  ;  three  Almains  in  apparel  all  cut  and  slit  of  silk  : 
Lady  Peace,  in  lady's  apparel,  all  white  and  rich  ;  and  Lady  Quietness, 
and  Dame  Tranquillity,  richly  beseen  in  ladies'  apparel. 

The  drama  represented  by  these  personages  appears  to  have  been 
the  composition  of  John  Rightwise,  then  master  of  the  children  of 

1  Tho  original  appointment  of  John  Bernard  is  preserved  in  the 
library  of  Sir  Thomas  Phillippes,  Bart.,  to  whom  we  owe  the,  addi- 
tionnl  information,  that  this  Clerk  of  the  Revels  had  a  house  assigned 
In  him,  strangely  called,  in  the  instrument,  "Egypt,  and  Flesh- 
Iln.1."  with  a  garden  which  had  belonged  to  the  dissolved  monastery 
of  the  Charter-house  :  the  words  of  the  original  are,  omnia  ilia,  do- 
ta  Egipte  ft  Fleshnll,  et  iUam  domum 
le  garneter.  The  theatrical  wardrobe  of 
d  kept  at  St.  John's  Gate,  ClerkenweU. 
»  In  hi*  '•  Edward  VI.  and  Mary,"  1830,  vol.  i.  p.  20 


o  e  arter-ouse  :  the  wo 
num  et  alifitia  nuper  vocat 
artjaftnum  nuper  voratam  le 
the  court  was  at  this  period  ke 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  XXVII 

formances,  but  the  publication  of  dramas.  Playing  and 
printing  plays  wen:  first  entirely  suspended;  then,  the 
companies  of  noblemen  were  allowed  to  perform,  but  not 
without  special  authority  ;  and,  finally,  the  sign  manual,  or 
the  names  of  six  of  The  Privy  Council  were  required  to 
their  licenses.  The  objection  stated  was,  that  the  plays  had 
a  political,  not  a  polemical,  purpose.  One  of  the  first  acts 
of  Mary's  government,  was  to  issue  a  proclamation  to  put 
a  stop  to  the  performance  of  interludes  calculated  to  ad- 
vance the  principles  of  the  Reformation  ;  and  we  may  b« 
Bure  that  the  play  ordered  at  the  coronation  of  the  queen 
was  of  a  contrary  description1.  It  appears  on  other  autho- 
rities, that  for  two  years  there  was  an  entire  cessation  of 
public  dramatic  performances  ;  but  in  this  reign  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  old  Roman  Catholic  miracle-plays  was  par- 
tially and  authoritatively  revived. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  detail  the  proceedings  in  connexion 
with  theatrical  representations  at  the  opening  of  the  reign 
of  Elizabeth.  At  first  plays  were  discountenanced,  but  by 
degrees  they  were  permitted  ;  and  the  queen  seems  at  all 
times  to  have  derived  much  pleasure  from  the  services  of 
her  own  players,  those  of  her  nobility,  and  of  the  different 
companies  of  children  belonging  to  Westminster,  St.  Paul's, 
Windsor,  and  the  Chapel  Royal.  The  members  of  the  inns 
of  court  also  performed  "  Gorboduc"  on  18th  January,  1562  ; 
and  on  February  Ist^  an  historical  play,  under  the  name  of 
"  Julius  Cassar,"  was  represented,  but  by  what  company  is 
no  where  mentioned. 

In  1572  the  act  was  passed  (which  was  renewed  with  ad- 
ditional force  in  1597)  to  restrain  the  number  of  itinerant 
performers.  Two  years  afterwards,  the  Earl  of  Leicester 
obtained  from  Elizabeth  a  patent  under  the  great  seal,  to 
enable  his  players  James  Burbage,  John  Perkyu,  John  Lau- 
ham,  William  Johnson,  and  Robert  Wilson,  to  perform 
"  comedies,  tragedies,  interludes,  and  stage-plays,"  in  any 
part  of  the  kingdom,  with  the  exception  of  the  metropolis^. 

i  See  Kempe's  "  Losely  Manuscripts."  1S35.  p.  61.  The  warrant 
for  the  purpose  was  under  the  sign  manual,  and  it  was  directed  to 
Sir  T.  Cawarden.  as  Master  of  the  Revels  :—  u  We  will  and  command 


you,  upon  the  sight  hereof,  forthwith  to  make  and  deliver  out  of  our 
Revels,  unto  the  Gentlemen  of  our  Chapel,  for  a  play  to  be  played 
before  us  at  the  feast  of  our  Coronation,  as  in  times  past  hath  been 


accustomed  to  be  done  by  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Chapel  of  our  pro- 
genitors, all  siwh  necessary  garments,  and  other  tilings  for  the  fur- 
niture thereof,  as  shall  be  thought  meet,"  &c.  The  play,  although 
ordered  for  this  occasion,  viz.  1st  Oct.  1553,  was  for  some  unex- 
plained reason  deferred  until  Christmas. 

a  There  is  a  material  difference  between  the  warrant  under  the 
privy  seal,  and  the  patent  under  the  great  seal,  granted  upon  this 
occasion  :  the  former  gives  the  players  a  right  to  perform  "  as  well 
within  the  city  of  London  and  liberties  of  the  same  "  as  elsewhere  ; 


HISTOUY    OF    THE    ENGLISH    STAGE 

The  Lord  Mayor  and  Aldermen  succeeded  in  excluding 
the  players  from  the  strict  boundaries  of  the  city,  but  they 
were  not  able  to  shut  them  out  of  the  libeides ;  and  it  w 
not  to  be  forgotten  that  James  Burbage  and  his  associates 
were  supported  by  court  favour  generally,  and  by  the  pow- 
erful patronage  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester  m  particular.  Ac- 
cordingly, in  the  year  after  they  had  obtained  their  patent, 
Jaines  Burbage  and  his  fellows  took  a  large  house  in  the 
precinct  of  the  dissolved  monastery  of  the  Black  Friars,  and 
converted  it  into  a  theatre.  This  was  accomplished  in  1 576, 
and  it  is  the  first  time  we  hear  of  any  building  set  apart  for 
theatrical  representations.  Until  then  the  various  compa- 
nies of  actors  had  been  obliged  to  content  themselves  with 
churches,  halls,  with  temporary  erections  in  the  streets,  or 
with  inn  yards,  in  which  they  raised  a  stage,  the  spectators 
standing  below,  or  occupying  the  galleries  that  surrounded 
the  open  space1.  Just  about  the  same  period  two  other 
edifices  were  built  for  the  exhibition  of  plays  in  Shoreditch, 
one  of  which  was  called  "  The  Curtain,"2  and  the  other  "  The 
Theatre."  Both  these  are  mentioned  as  in  existence  and 
operation  in  15773.  Thus  we  see  that  two  buildings  close 
to  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  a  third  within  a  privileged  dis- 
trict in  the  city,  all  expressly  applied  to  tne  purpose  of 
stage-plays,  were  in  use  almost  immediately  after  the  date 
of  the  Patent  to  the  players  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester.  It  is 
extremely  likely,  though  we  have  no  distinct  evidence  of 
the  fact,  that  one  or  more  play-houses  were  opened  about 

but  the  latter  (dated  three  days  afterwards,  viz.  10  May,  1574)  omits 
this  paragraph;  and  we  need  entertain  little  doubt  that  it  was  ex- 
cluded at  the  instance  of  the  Corporation  of  London,  always  opposed 
to  theatrical  performances. 

*  In  1557  the  Boar's  Head,  Aldgate,  had  been  used  for  the  per- 
formance of  a  drama  called  "  The  Sack  full  of  News;"  and  Stephen 
Gosson  in  his  "  School  of  Abuse,"  1579.  (reprinted  by  the  Shakespeare 
Society)  mentions  the  Belle  Savage  and  the  Bull  as  inns  at  which 
particular  plays  had  been  represented.  R.  Flecknae,  in  his  "  Short 
Discourse  of  the  English  Stage,"  appended  to  his  "Love's  Kingdom," 
1GW,  says  that  "  at  this  day  is  to  be  seen  "  that  ':  the  inn  yards  of  tho 
Cross-Keys,  and  Bull,  in  Grace  and  Bishopsgate  Streets"  had  been 
used  as  theatres.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  the  Boar's  Head, 
Aldgato,  had  belonged  to  the  lather  of  Edward  Alleyn. 

»  It  has  been  supposed  by  some,  that  the  Curtain  theatre  owed  its 
nnme  to  tho  curtain  employed  to  separate  the  actors  from  the  audi- 
ence. We  have  before  us  documents  (which  on  account  of  their 
length  we  cannot  insert)  showing  that  such  was  probably  not  the  fact, 
»nd  that  the  ground  on  which  the  building  stood  was  called  the  Cur- 
tain (perhaps  as  part  of  tho  fortifications  of  London)  before  any  play- 
bouse  was  built  there.  For  this  information  we  have  to  offer  our 
thanks  to  Mr.  T.  E.  Tomlins  of  Islington. 

»  In  John  Northbrooke's  "Treatise."  &c.  againsj  "vain  plays  or 
interludes."  licensed  for  the  press  in  1577,  the  work  being  then  ready 
»nd  in  the  printer's  hand*  It  hag  been  reprinted  by  the  Shakespears 
Socinly 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  XXIX 

the  same  tune  in  South  wark;  and  we  know  that  the  Ros« 
theatre  was  standing  there  not  many  years  afterwards1 
John  Stockwood,  a  puritanical  preacher,  published  a  sermon 
in  1578,  in  which  he  asserted  that  there  were  "  eight  ordi- 
nary places "  in  and  near  London  for  dramatic  exhibitions, 
and  that  the  united  profits  were  not  less  than  £2000  a  year, 
at  least  £12,000  of  our  present  money.  Another  divine,  of 
the  name  of  White,  equally  opposed  to  such  performances, 
preaching  in  1576,  called  the  plav-houses  at  that  time 
erected,  "  sumptuous  theatres."  No"  doubt,  the  puritanical 
zeal  of  these  divines  had  been  excited  by  the  opening  of  the 
Blackfriars,  the  Curtain,  and  the  Theatre,  in  1576  and  1577, 
for  the  exclusive  purpose  of  the  drama ;  and  the  five  addi- 
tional places,  where  plays,  according  to  Stockwood,  were 
acted  before  1578,  were  most  likely  a  play-house  at  Newiug- 
ton-butts,  or  inn-yards,  converted  occasionally  into  theatres. 
An  important  fact,  in  connexion  with  the  manner  in  which 
dramatic  performances  were  patronized  by  Queen  Elizabeth, 
has  been  recently  brought  to  light2.  It  has  been  hithert* 
supposed  tliat  in  1583  she  selected  one  company  of  twelve 
performers,  to  be  called  "  the  Queen's  players ;"  but  it  seems 
that  she  had  two  separate  associations  in  her  pay,  each  dis- 
tinguished as  "  the  Queen's  players."  Tyluey,  the  master 
of  the  revels  at  the  time,  records,  in  one  of  his  accounts, 
that  in  March,  1583,  he  had  been  sent  for  by  her  Majesty 
"  to  chuse  out  a  company  of  players  :"  Richard  Tarlton  and 
Robert  Wilson  were  placed  at  the  head  of  that  association, 
which  was  probably  soon  afterwards  divided  into  two  dis- 
tinct bodies  of  performers.  In  1590,  John  Lanham  was  the 
leader  of  one  body,3  and  Lawrence  Dutton  of  the  other- 

»  See  the  il  Memoirs  of  Edward  Alleyn."  (published  by  the  Shake- 
speare Society)  p.  189.  It  seems  that  the  Rose  had  been  the  sign  of 
a  house  of  public  entertainment  before  it  was  converted  into  a  theatre. 
Such  was  also  the  case  with  the  Swan,  and  the  Hope,  in  the  same 
neighbourhood. 

2  By  .Mr.  Peter  Cunningham,  in  his  "  Extracts  from  the  Accounts 
of  the   Revels."  printed   for  the  Shakespeare  Society,  pp.  32  and 
18(5.    The  editor's  •'  Introduction  "  is  full  of  new  and  valuable  In  for 
ination. 

3  Tarlton  died  on  3  Sept.  15SS.  and  we  apprehend  that  it  was  not 
until  after  this  date  that  Lanham  became  leader  of  one  company  ol 
the  Queen's  Players.     Mr.  Halliwell  discovered  Tarlton's  will  in  the 
Prerogative  Office,  bearing  date  on  the  day  of  his  decease  :  ho  there 
calls  himself  one  of  the  grooms  of  the  Queen's  chamber,  and  leave* 
all  his  "goods,  cattels.  chattels,  plate,  ready  money,  jewels.  bond« 
obligatory,  specialties,  and  debts,"  to  his  son  Philip  Tarlton.  a  minor. 
He  appoints  his  mother.  Katherine  Tarlton.  lu's  friend  Robert  Adams, 
and  "his  fellow  William  Johnson,  one  also  of  the  grooms  of  hei 
Majesty's  chamber,"  trustees  for  his  son.  and  executors  of  his  will, 
which  was  proved  by  Adams  three  days  after  the  death  of  the  testator 
As  Tarlton  says  nothing  about  his  wife  in  his  will,  we  may  presume 
that  he  was  a  "widower  ;  and  of  his  son,  Philip  Tarlton,  we  never  hoai 
afterwards. 


XZX  HISTORY  OF  THE  ENGLISH   STAGE. 

We  have  thus  brought  our  sketch  of  dramatic  perform- 
ances and  performers  down  to  about  the  same  period,  the 
year  1583.  We  propose  to  continue  it  to  1590,  and  to  as- 
sume that  as  the  period  not,  of  course,  when  Shakespeare 
first  joined  a  theatrical  company,  but  when  he  began  writ- 
ing original  pieces  for  the  stage.  This  is  a  matter  which 
is  more  distinctly  considered  in  the  biography  of  the  poet ; 
but  it  is  necessary  here  to  fix  upon  some  date  to  which  we 
are  to  extend  our  introductory  account  of  the  progress  and 
condition  of  theatrical  affairs.  What  we  have  still  to  offer 
will  apply  to  the  seven  years  from  1583  to  1590. 

The  accounts  of  the  revels  at  court  about  this  period 
afford  us  little  information,  and  indeed  for  several  years, 
when  such  entertainments  were  certainly  required  by  the 
Queeu\  we  are  without  any  details  either  of  the  pieces  per- 
formed, or  of  the  cost  of  preparation.  We  have  such  par- 
ticulars for  the  years  1581,  1582.  1584,  and  1587,  but  for 
the  intermediate  years  they  are  wanting.1 

The  accounts  of  1581,  1582,  and  1584,  give  us  the  fol- 
lowing names  of  dramatic  performances  of  various  kinds 
exhibited  before  the  Queen : 

A  comedy  called  Delight.  Ariodante  and  Genevora. 

The  Story  of  Pompev.  Pastoral    of    Phillada    and 

A  Game  of  the  Cards.  Clorin. 

A   comedy    of   Beauty  and       History   of  Felix   and   Phi- 

Housewifry.  liomena. 

Love  and  Fortune.  Five  Plays  in  One. 

History  of  Farrar.  Three  Plays  in  One. 

History  of  Telomo.  Agamemnon  and  Ulysses. 

This  list  of  dramas  (the  accounts  mention  that  others 
were  acted  without  supplying  their  titles)  establishes  that 
moral  plays  had  not  yet  been  excluded2.  The  "Game  of 
the  Cards  "  is  expressly  called  "  a  comedy  or  moral,"  in  the 
accounts  of  1582 ;  and  we  may  not  unreasonably  suppose 
that " Delight,"  and  "Beauty and  Housewifry.wereofthe 
same  class.  "  The  Story  of  Pompey,"  and  ""Agamemnon 
and  Ulysses,"  were  evidently  performances  founded  upon 
ancient  history,  and  such  may  have  been  the  case  with  "The 
History  of  Tolomo."  "  Love  and  Fortune  "  has  been  called 
"  the  play  of  Fortune  "  in  the  account  of  1573 ;  and  we  may 
feel  assured  that  "  Ariodaute  and  Geiievora  "  was  the  story 

1  From  15f)7  to  1604,  the  most  important  period  as  regards  Shake- 
ipeare,  it  does  not  appear  that  any  official  statements  by  the  master 
of  the  r.-Yels  have  been  preserved.  In  the  same  way  there  :»  an  un- 
fortunate interval  between  161)4  and  Kill. 

*  One  of  the  last  nieces  represented  before  Queen  I  lizabeth  was  fl 
onl  play,  under  the  titU  of  '-The  Contention  between  Liberality 
nted  '"  ^  ^  acted' ^  aPPears  bv  the  itronS' 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  XXXl 

told  by  Ariosto,  -which  also  foi-ms  part  of  the  plot  of 
"  Much  Ado  about  Nothing."  "  The  History  of  Ferrar"  was 
doubtless  "  The  History  of  Error"  of  the  account  of  1577, 
the  clerk  having  written  the  title  by  his  ear ;  and  we  may 
reasonably  suspect  that  "  Felix  and  Philiomena"  was  the 
tale  of  Felix  and  Felismena,  narrated  in  the  "  Diana"  of 
M<>iitemayor.  It  is  thus  evident,  that  the  Master  of  the 
Revels  and  the  actors  exerted  themselves  to  furnish  variety 
for  the  entertainment  of  the  Queen  and  her  nobility ;  but 
we  still  see  no  trace  ("  Gorboduc"  excepted)  of  any  play  at 
court,  the  materials  for  which  were  obtained  from  the  Eng- 
lish Chronicles.  It  is  very  certain,  however,  that  anterior 
to  1 588  such  pieces  had  been  written,  and  acted  before  pub- 
lic audiences1 ;  but  those  who  catered  for  the  court  in  these 
matters  might  not  consider  it  expedient  to  exhibit,  in  the 
presence  of  the  Queen,  any  play  which  involved  the  actions 
or  conduct  of  her  predecessors.  The  companies  of  players 
engaged  in  these  representations  were  those  of  the  Queen, 
the  Earls  of  Leicester,  Derby,  Sussex,  Oxford,  the  Lords 
Hunsdon  and  Strange,  and  the  children  of  the  Chapel  Royal 
and  of  St  Paul's. 

About  this  date  the  number  of  companies  of  actors  per- 
forming publicly  in  and  near  London  seems  to  have  been 
very  considerable.  A  person,  who  calls  himself  "  a  soldier," 
writing  to  Secretary  Walsingham,  in  January,  1586,2  tells 
him.  mat  "  every  day  in  the  week  the  players'  bills  are  set 
up  iu  sundry  places  of  the  citv,"  ami  after  mentioning  the 
actors  of  the  Queen,  the  Earl  of  Leicester,3  the  Earl  of 
Oxford,  and  the  Lord  Admiral,  he  goes  on  to  state  that  not 
fewer  than  two  hundred  persons,  thus  retained  and  em- 
ployed, strutted  iu  their  silks  about  the  streets.  It  may  be 
doubted  whether  this  statement  is  much  exaggerated,  re- 
collecting the  many  noblemen  who  had  playei-sWting  under 

1  Tarlton,  -who  died,  as  we  hare  already  stated,  in  Sept.  15SS,  ob- 
tained great  celebrity  by  his  performance  of  the  two  parts  of  Derrick 
and  the  Judge,  in  the  old  historical  play  of  "  The  Famous  Victories 
of  Henry  the  Fifth." 

*  See  the  original  letter  in  Harleian  MSS.  No.  2SO. 
3  The  manner  in  which,  about  this  time,  the  players  were  bribed 
rway  from  Oxford  is  curious,  and  one  of  the  items  in  the  accounts 
expressly  applies  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester's  servants.     We  are  obliged 
to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bliss  for  the  following  extracts,  relating  to  this  pe- 
nod  and  a  little  afterwards  : 
1567  Solut.  Histrionibus  Comitis  Lecestriaj.  ut  cum  suis  ludis 

sine  majore  Acad?rr.ia  molestia  discedant          .         .     xxt 
Solut.  Histhonibus  HoJiratissimi  Domini  Howard         .     x» 
1693  Solut.  Histrionibus,  ne  ludos  inhonestos  exercerent  in- 
fra Universitatem (no  sum) 

I«i0  Solut.  per  D.  Eedes,  vice-cancellarii  locum  tenentem, 
quibusdam  Histrionibus.  ut  sine  perturbatione  et 
strepitu  ab  Academia  di«cederenl  V 


XXXli          HISTORY    OF   THE    ENGLISH    STAGE 

their  names  at  this  date,  and  that  each  company  consisted 
probably  of  eight  or  ten  performers.  On  the  same  authority 
we  learn  that  theatrical  representations  upon  the  Sabbath 
had  been  forbidden ;  but  this  restriction  does  not  seem  to 
have  been  imposed  without  a  considerable  struggle.  Before 
1581  the  Privy  Council  had  hsued  an  order  upon  the  sub- 
ject, but  it  was  disregardec  in  some  of  the  suburbs  of  Lon- 
don ;  and  it  was  not  until  after  a  fatal  exhibition  of  bear- 
baiting  at  Paris  Garden,  upon  Sunday,  13  June,  1583,  wheu 
many  persons  were  killed  and  wounded  by  the  falling  of  a 
scaffold,  that  the  practice  of  playing,  as  well  as  bear-baiting, 
on  the  Sabbath  wais  at  all  generally  cheeked.  In  1586,  as 
far  as  we  can  judge  from  the  information  that  has  come 
dowu  to  our  day,  the  order  which  had  been  issued  iu  this 
respect  was  pretty  strictly  enforced.  At  this  period,  and 
afterwards,  plays  were  not  unfrequeutly  played  at  court  on 
Sunday,  aud  the  clu'ef  difficulty  therefore  seems  to  have 
been  to  induce  the  Privy  Council  to  act  with  energy  against 
similar  performances  m  public  theatres. 

The  annual  official  statement  of  the  Master  of  the  Revels 
merely  tells  us,  in  general  terms,  that  between  Christmas 
1586,  and  Shrovetide  1587,  "seven  plays,  besides  feats  of 
activity,  aud  other  shows  by  the  children  of  Paul's,  her 
Majesty's  servants,  and  the  gentlemen  of  Gray's  Inn,"  were 
prepared  and  represented  before  the  Queen  at  Greenwich. 
No  names  of  plays  are  furnished,  but  in  1587  was  printed  a 
tragedy,  under  the  title  of  "The  Misfortunes  of  Arthur," 
which  purports  to  have  been  acted  by  some  of  the  members 
of  Gray's  Inn  before  the  Queen,  on  28  Feb,  1587  :  this,  in 
fact,  must  be  the  very  production  stated  in  the  revels'  ac- 
counts to  have  been  got  up  and  performed  by  these  par- 
ties ;  and  it  requires  notice,  not  merely  for  its  own  intrinsic 
excellence  as  a  drama,  but  because,  iu  point  of  date,  it  is 
the  second  play  founded  upon  English  history  represented 
at  court,  as  well  as  the  second  original  theatrical  production 
iu  blank-verse  that  has  been  preserved1.  The  example,  in 
this  particular,  had  been  set,  as  we  have  already  shown,  in 
"  Gorboduc,"  fifteen  years  before ;  and  it  is  probable,  that  iu 
that  interval  not  a  few  of  the  serious  compositions  exhibited 
at  court  were  iu  blank-verse,  but  it  had  not  yet  been  used 
on  any  of  our  public  stages. 

The  main  body  Of  "  The  Misfortunes  of  Arthur"  was  the 
authorship  of  Thomas  Hughes,  a  member  of  Gray's  Inn ; 

»  Gascoyne's  "Jocasta,"  printed  in  1577,  and  represented  by  the 
author  and  other  members  of  the  society  at  Gray's  Inn  in  1500  as  a 
private  ihow,  was  a  translation  flora  Euripides,  'it  is.  as  far  as  has 
jr»t  been  ascertained,  the  second  play  in  our  language  written  in 
bl»nlc-vers«  but  it  was  not  an  original  work.  The  same  auti,ur» 
'-  taken  from  Arioslo,  is  in  prvse. 


TO    1HE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.          XXXUJ 

but  some  speeches  and  two  choruses  (which  are  in  rhyme) 
were  added  by  William  Fulbecke  and  Francis  Flower, 
while  no  less  a  man  than  Lord  Bucou  assisted  Christopher 
Yelverton  and  John  Lancaster  in  the  preparation  of  the 
dumb-shows.  Hughes  evidently  took  "Gorboduc"  as  hib 
model,  both  in  subject  and  style,  and,  like  Sackville  and 
Norton,  he  adopted  the  form  of  the  Greek  and  Roman 
drama,  and  adhered  more  strictly  than  his  predt -cess<>rs  t>> 
the  unities  of  time  and  place.  The  plot  relates  to  the  re- 
bellion of  Mordred  against  his  father,  king  Arthur,  aud  part 
to  the  plot  is  very  revolting,  on  account  of  the  incest  be- 
fwe«-n  Mordred  and  his  stepmother  Guenevora,  Mordred 
himself  being  the.  sou  of  Arthur's  sister:  there  :s  also  a  vast 
deal  of  blood"  aud  slaughter  throughout,  and  the  catastrophe 
is  the  killing  of  the  sou  by  the  father,  and  of  the  father  bv 
the  son ;  so  that  a  more  painfully  disagreeable  st<  >ry  c<  >ul<  1 
hardly  have  been  selected.  The  author,  however,  ]  > 
a  very  bold  and  vigorous  genius ;  his  characters  are  strongly 
drawn,  and  the  language  they  employ  is  consistent  with 
their  situations  and  habits:  his  blank-verse,  both  in  force 
aud  variety,  is  superior  to  that  of  either  Sackville  or  Nor 
ton1. 

It  is  very  clear,  that  up  to  the  year  1580,  about  which 
date  Gosson  published  his  "  Plays  confuted  in  Five  Ac- 
tions," dramatic  performances  on  the  public  stages  of  Lon- 
don were  sometimes  in  prose,  but  more  constantly  in  ihvme. 
In  his  "School  of  Abuse,"  1579,  Gossou  speaks  of  ''two 
prose  books  played  at  the  Bell  Savage2 ;"  but  in  his  "  Plays 
confuted'' he  tells  us,  that  "  poets  send  their  verses  to  the 
stage  upon  such  feet  as  continually  are  rolled  up  in  rhyme." 
With  one  or  two  exceptions,  all  the  plays  publicly  acted,  of 
a  date  anterior  to  1590,  that  have  come  down  to  us,  are 
either  in  prose  or  in  rhyme8.  The  case  seems  to  have  been 
different,  as  already  remarked,  with  some  of  the  court- 

>  "The  Misfortunes  of  Arthur."  with  four  other  dramas,  has  been 
reprinted  in  a  supplementary  volume  to  the  last  edition  of  Dodsley's 
Old  Plays.  It  is  not,  therefore,  necessary  here  to  enter  into  an  ex- 
amination of  its  structure  or  versification.  It  is  a.  work  of  extraor- 
dinary power. 

»  See  the  Shakespeare  Society's  reprint,  p.  30.  Gosson  gives  them 
the  highest  praise,  asserting  that  they  contained  "never  a  word 
without  wit,  never  a  line  without  pith,  never  a  letter  placed  in 
»ain." 

3  Sometimes  plays  written  in  prose  were,  at  a  subsequent  date, 
when  blank-verse  had  become  the  popular  form  of  composition,  pub- 
lished as  if  they  had  been  composed  in  measured  lines.  The  old  his- 
torical play,  "The  Famous  Victories  of  Henry  the  Fifth.''  which 
preceded  that  of  Shakespeare,  is  an  instance  directly  in  point  •.  it  wai 
written  in  prose,  but  the  old  printer  chopped  it  up  into  lines  of  un- 
rqaaJ  length,  so  is  to  mak«  it  appear  to  the  eye  something  like  blanfr 
worse 


XXXiv         HISTORY    OF    THE    ENGLISH    STACK 

shows  and  private  entertainments ;  but  we  are  now  advert 
ing  to  the  pieces  represented  at  such  places  as  the  Theatre 
the  Curtain,  Blackfriars,  and  in  inn-yards  adapted  tempo 
rarilv  to  dramatic  amusements,  to  which  the  public  was 
indiscriminately  admitted.  The  earliest  work,  in  which  the 
employment  of  blank-verse  for  the  purpose  of  the  common 
stage  is  noticed,  is  an  epistle  by  Thomas  Nash  introducing 
to  the  world  his  friend  Robert  Greene's  "  Meuaphon,"  in 
1587':  there,  in  reference  to  "vain-glorious  tragedians,"  he 
says,  that  they  we  "  mounted  on  the  stage  of  arrogance," 
and  that  they  "  think  to  out-brave  better  pens  with  the 
swelling  bombast  of  bragging  blank- verse."  He  aftei-wards 
talks  of  the  "drumming  decasyllibon"  they  employed,  and 
ridicules  them  for  "  reposing  eternity  in  the  mouth  of  a 
player."  This  question  is  farther  illustrated  by  a  produc- 
tion by  Greene,  published  in  the  next  year,  "  Perimedes, 
the  Blacksmith,"  from  which  it  is  evident  that  Nash  had  an 
individual  allusion  in  what  he  had  said  in  1587.  Greene 
fixes  on  the  author  of  the  tragedy  of  "  Tamburlaine,"  whom 
he  accuses  of  "  setting  the  end  of  scholarisrn  in  an  English 
blank-vei'se,"  and  who,  it  should  seem,  had  somewhere  ac- 
cused Greene  of  not  being  able  to  write  it. 

We  learn  from  various  authorities,  that  Christopher 
Marlowe5  was  the  author  of  "  Tamburlaine  the  Great,"  a 

i  Greene  began  writing  in  1583,  his  "  Mamillia"  having  been 
then  printed:  his  "Mirror  of  Modesty"  and  '•  Monardo,'' bear  the 
date  of  1584.  His  "Menaphon"  (afterwards  called  "Greene's  Ar- 
cadia") first  appeared  in  15S7,  and  it  was  reprinted  in  15K9.  We 
have  never  seen  the  earliest  edition  of  ft,  but  it  is  mentioned  by 
various  bibliographers;  and  those  who  have  thrown  doubt  upon  the 
point,  (stated  in  the  History  of  English  Dramatic  Poetry  and  the 
Stage,  vol.  iii.,  p.  150),  for  the  sake  of  founding  an  argument  upon 
it.  have  not  adverted  to  the  conclusive  fact,  that  "Menaphon''  is 
mentioned  as  already  in  print  in  the  introductory  matter  to  another 
of  Greene's  pamphlets,  dated  in  15«7 — we  mean  l;Euphues  his 
Censure  to  Philautus." 

*  If  Marlowe  were  born,  as  has  been  supposed,  about  1562,  (Oldyg 
places  the  event  earlier,)  he  was  twenty-four  when  he  wrote  "  Tam- 
hurlaine."  as  we  believe,  in  15«<5,  and  only  thirty-one  when  he  was 
killed  by  a  person  of  the  name  of  Archer,  in  an  affray  arising  out  of 
an  amorous  intrigue,  in  1593.  In  a  manuscript  note  of  tl  e  time,  in 
a  copy  of  his  version  of  "  Hero  and  Leander,"  edit.  10-29,  in  our  pos- 
i.  it  is  said,  among  other  things,  that  "  Marlowe's  father  was  a 


shoemaker  at  Canterbury,"  and  that  he  had  an  acquaintance  at  Dover 
whom  he  infected  wit 


ury,"  and  that  he  had  an  acquaintance  at 
ith  the  extreme  liberality  of   his  opinio 

matters  of   religion.      At  the  back  of   the  title-page  of   the  samf 
volume  IS  inserted  the  following  epitaph,  subscribed  with  Marlowe'* 
me,  and    no  doubt  of   his   composition,   although   never   before 

"In  obitum  honoratissimi  viri 
ROGKRI  MAN-WOOD,  Militis.  Qusestorii 

Reginalis  Capitalis  Baronis. 
Noctivagi  terror,  paneonis  triste  flagellum, 
Et  fovis  Alcides.  rigido  vulturque  latroni, 
'<rna  subtegitur  :  scelerum  gaudete  nepotea 


TO    THE    TIME    OT    SHAKESPEARE.  XXX7 

dramatic  work  of  the  liighest  celebrity  and  popularity 
printed  as  early  as  1590,  and  affording  the  first  known  in- 
stance of  the  use  of  blank-verse  in  a  public  theatre  :  the 
title-page  of  the  edition  1590  states,  that  it  had  beeu  "  sun- 
dry times  shown  upon  stages  in  the  city  of  London."  In 
the  prologue  the  author  claims  to  have  introduced  a  new 
form  of  composition  :  — 

"  From  jigging  veins  of  rhyming  mother-  wits, 
And  such  conceits  as  clownage  keeps  in  pay, 
We  '11  lead  you  to  the  stately  tent  of  war,"  &c. 

Accordingly,  nearly  the  whole  drama,  consisting  of  a  first 
and  second  part,  is  in  blank-verse.  Hence  we  see  the  value 
of  Dry  den's  loose  assertion,  in  the  dedication  to  Lord  Ur- 
i-eiy  of  his  "  Rival  Ladies,"  in  1664,  that  "Shakespeare  was 
the  fii-st  who,  to  shun  the  pains  of  continual  rhyming,  in- 
vented that  kind  of  writing  which  we  call  blank-verse." 
The  distinction  belongs  to  Marlowe,  the  greatest  of  Shakes- 
peare's predecessors,  and  a  poet  who,  if  he  had  lived,  might, 
perhaps,  have  been  a  formidable  rival  of  his  genius.  We 
have  too  much  reverence  for  the  exhaustless  originality  of 
our  great  dramatist,  to  think  that  he  cannot  afford  this,  01 
any  other  tribute  to  a  poet,  who,  as  far  as  the  public  stage 
is  'concerned,  deserves  to  be  regarded  as  the  inventor  of  a 
new  style  of  composition. 

Tliaf  the  attempt  was  viewed  with  jealousy,  there  can  be 
no  doubt,  after  what  we  have  quoted  from  Nash  and  Greene. 
It  is  most  likely  that  Greene,  who  was  older  than  Nash, 
had  previously  written  various  dramas  in  rhyme  ;  and  the 
bold  experiment  <>f  Marlowe  having  been  instantly  success- 
ful, Greene  was  obliged  to  abandon  his  old  course,  and  his 
extant  plays  are  all  in  blank-verse.  Nash,  who  had  at- 
tacked Marlowe  in  1587,  before  1593  (when  Marlowe  was 
killed)  had  joined  him  in  the  production  of  a  blank-verse 
tragedv  on  the  story  of  Dido,  which  was  printed  in  1594. 

It  has  been  objected  to  "  Tamburlaine,"  that  it  is  written 
in  a  turgid  and  ambitious  style,  such  indeed  as  Nash  and 
Q  reene  ridicule  ;  but  we  are  to  recollect  that  Marlowe  was 


Tnsons.  luctifica  sparsis  cervice  capillis, 
Planjre.  fori  lumen,  venerandae  gloria  legis 
Occidit  :  heu  !  secum  eflfctas  Acherontis  ad 


Mnlta  abiit  virtv.s.     Pro  tot  virtutibus  uni, 
Livor.  parce  viro  :  non  audacissimus  esto 
Illius  in  cineres,  cuius  tot  millia  vultns 

VUnraBtexiUiguU,  feUcit^ossa  qu^eJcant,  " 
Famaeque  marmore:  superet  monumenta  sepulchri." 
It  is  added,  that  "  Marlowe  was  a  rare  scholar,  and  died  ajred  about 
.hirty."     The  above  is  the  only  extant  specimen  of  his  Latin  com 
oosition,  and  we  insert  it  exactly  as  it  stands  in  manuscript 


XXXVl         HISTORY    OF    THE    ENGLISH    STAOK 

at  this  time  endeavouring  to  wean  audiences  from  the 
"jigging  veins  of  rhyming  mother-wits,"  and  that,  in  order  to 
satisfy  the  ear  for  the  loss  of  the  jingle,  he  was  obliged  to 


give  what  Nash  calls  "  the  swelling  bombast  of 
blauk  -verse."  This  consideration  will  of  itself  account  foi 
breaches  of  a  more  correct  taste  to  be  found  in  "  Tambur 
laine."  In  the  Prologue,  besides  what  we  have  alreadj 
quoted,  Marlowe  tells  the  audience  to  expect  "high  as 
touudiug  terms,"  and  he  did  not  disappoint  expectation, 
Perhaps  the  better  to  reconcile  the  ordinary  frequenters  of 
public  theatres  to  the  change,  he  inserted  various  scenes  of 
low  comedy,  which  the  printer  of  the  edition  in  1590 
thought  fit  to  exclude,  as  "  digressing,  and  far  unmeet  foi 
the  matter."  Marlowe  likewise  sprinkled  couplets  here 
and  there,  although  it  is  to  be  remembered,  that  having  ac- 
complished his  object  of  substituting  blank-verse  by  the 
first  part  of  "  Tamburlaine,"  he  did  not,  even  iu  the  second 
part,  think  it  necessary  by  any  means  so  frequently  to  in- 
troduce occasional  rhymes.  In  those  plays  which  there  is 
grouud  for  believing  to  be  the  first  works  of  Shakespeare, 
couplets,  and  even  stanzas,  are  more  frequent  than  iu  any 
of  the  surviving  productions  of  Marlowe.  This  circum- 
stance is,  perhaps,  in  part  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  fact 
(as  far  as  we  may  so  call  it)  that  our  great  poet  retained 
in  smne  of  his  performances  portions  of  old  rhyming  dramas, 
which  he  altered  and  adapted  to  the  stage  ;  but  iu  early 
plays,  which  are  to  be  looked  upon  as  entirely  his  own, 
Shakespeare  appears  to  have  deemed  rhyme  more  neces- 
sary to  satisfy  the  ear  of  liis  auditory  than  Marlowe  held  it 
when  he  wiote  liis  "Tamburlaine  the  Great" 

As  the  first  employment  of  blank-verse  upon  the  public 
stage  by  Marlowe  is  a  matter  of  much  impoitance,  in  rela- 
tion to  the  history  of  our  more  ancient  drama,  and  to  the 
subsequent  adoption  of  that  form  of  composition  by  Shakes- 
peare, we  ought  not  to  dismiss  it  without  affording  a  single 
tpecimen  from  "  Tamburlaiue  the  Great"  The  following 
w  a  portion  of  a  speech  by  the  hero  to  Zenocrate,  when  first 
hi  meets  and  sues  to  her: 

"  Disdains  ZciK.crate  to  live  with  me, 
Or  you,  my  lords,  to  be  my  followers  ? 
flunk  you  I  weigh  this  treasure  more  than  you  I 
Tsot  nil  the  gold  in  India's  wealthy  arms 
Shall  buy  the  meanest  soldier  in  my  train. 
Zenoorate,  lovelier  than  the  love  of  Jove, 
Brighter  ilixii  is  the  silver  Rhodope, 
Fairer  than  whitest  snow  on  Scythian  hills, 
lliv  person  is  more  worth  to  Ti'.rnburlaine, 
limn  the  possession  of  the  Persian  crown, 
v\  Inch  gracious  stars  have  promis'd  at  my  birth. 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.         XXXVL* 

A  hundred  Tartars  shall  attend  on  thee, 
Mounted  on  steeds  swifter  than  Pofrasus  : 
Thy  garments  shuil  be  made  of  Median  silk, 
Enchas'd  with  precious  jewels  of  mine  own, 
More  ricli  and  vulurous  than  ZenocrateV  : 
With  milk-white  harts  upon  an  ivory  sled 
Thou  shall  be  drawn  amidst  the  frozen  poles, 
And  scale  the  icy  mountains'  lofty  tops, 
"Which  with  thy'beauty  will  be  soon  dissolv'd."1 

Nash  having  alluded  to  "  Tamburlaine"  in  1587,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  it  could  hardly  have  been  written  later  than  15&5 
~>T  1586,  which  is  about  the  period  when  it  has  been  gener- 
ally, and  with  much  appearance  of  probability,  supposed 
that  Shakespeare  arrived  in  Londoa  In  considering  the 
state  of  the  stage  just  before  our  great  dramatist  became  a 
writer  for  it,  it  is  clearly,  therefore,  necessaiT  to  advert 
briefly  to  the  other  works,  of  Marlowe,  observing  in  addi- 
tion, with  reference  to  "Tamburlaine,"  that  it  is  a  historical 
drama,  in  which  not  a  single  unity  is  regarded ;  time,  place, 
and  action,  are  equally  set  at  defiance,  and  the  scene  shifts 
at  once  to  or  from  Persia,  Scythia,  Georgia,  and  Morocco, 
as  best  suited  the  purpose  of  the  poet. 

.Marlowe  was  also,  most  likely,  the  author  of  a  play  in 
which  the  Priest  of  the  Sun  was  prominent,  as  Greene  men 
tions  it  with  "Tamburlaine"  in  1588,  but  no  such  piece  is 
now  known :  he,  however,  wrote  "  The  Tragical  History  of 
the  Life  and  Death  of  Doctor  Faustus,"  "  The  Massacre  at 
Paris,"  "  The  rich  Jew  of  Malta,"  and  an  English  historical 
play,  called  "  The  troublesome  Reign  and  lamentable  Death 
of  Edward  the  Second,"  besides  aiding  Nash  in  "  Dido 
Queen  of  Carthage,"  as  already  mentioned.2  If  they  were 
not  all  of  them  of  a  date  anterior  to  any  of  Shakespeare's 
original  works,  they  were  written  by  a  man  who  had  set 
the  example  of  the  employment  of  blank-verse  upon  the 

1  Our  quotation  is  from  a  copy  of  the  edition  of  1590,  4to,  in  the 
library  of  Lord  Francis  Egerton,  which  we  believe  to  be  the  earliest : 
on  the  title-page  it  is  stated  that  it  is  ;'  now  first  and  newly  pub- 
lished."1    It  was  several  times  reprinted      No  modern  edition  is  to  be 
trusted  :   they  are  full  of  the  grossest  errors,  and  never  could  have 
been  collated. 

2  Another  play,  not  published  until  16-37,  tinder  the  title  of  "  Lust's 
Dominion."  has  also  been  constantly,  but  falsely,  assigned  to  Mar- 
iowe  :  some  of  the  historical  events  contained  in  it  did  not  happen 
until  five  years  after  the  death  of  that  poet.     This  fact  was  distinctly 
poimted  out  nearly  twenty  years  ago,  in  the  last  edition  of  Dcdsley  s 
Old  Plays  (vol.  ii..  p.  311]  ;  but  nevertheless  "Lust's  Dominion''  li«s 
lince  been  spoken  of  and  treated  as  Marlowe's  undoubted  production, 
and  even  included  in  editions  of  his  works.     It  is  in  all  probability 
the  same  drama  as  that  which,  in  Henslowe's  Diary,  is  called  ''  Th* 
Spanish  Moor's  Tragedy,"  which  was  written  by  D Vkker,  Haughton, 
•t^l  Day,  in  the  beginning  of  the  yeai  1600. 


XXXviii      HISTORY    OF    THE    ENGLISH    STACK 

public  stage,  and  perhaps  of  the  historical  and  romantic 
drama  in  all  its  leading  features  and  characteristics.  Ilia 
"  Edward  the  Second"  affords  sufficient  proof  of  both  these 
points :  the  versification  displays,  though  not  perhaps  in  the 
same  abundance,  nearly  all  the  excellences  of  Shakespeare ; 
and  in  point  of  construction,  as  well  as  in  interest,  it  bears 
a  strong  resemblance  to  the  "  Richard  the  Second"  of  our 
great  dramatist  It  is  impossible  to  read  the  one  without 
being  .reminded  of  the  other,  and  we  can  have  no  difficulty 
in  assigning  "  Edward  the  Second"  to  an  anterior  period.1 

The  same  remark  as  to  date  may  be  made  upon  the 
plays  which  came  from  the  pen  of  Robert  Greene,  who 
died  in  September,  1592,  when  Shakespeare  was  rising  into 
notice,  and  exciting  the  jealousy  of  dramatists  who  had 
previously  furnished  the  public  stages.  This  jealousy  broke 
out  on  the  part  of  Greene  in,  if  not  before,  1592,  (in  which 
year  his  "  Groatsworth  of  Wit,"  a  posthumous  work,  was 
published  by  his  contemporary,  Henry  Chettle3,)  when  he 
complained  that  Shakespeare  had  "beautified  himself" 
with  the  feathers  of  othei-s :  he  alluded,  as  we  apprehend, 
to  the  manner  in  which  Shakespeare  had  availed  himself 
of  the  two  parts  of  the  "  Contention  between  the  Houses, 
York  and  Lancaster,"  in  the  authorship  of  which  there  is 
much  reason  to  suppose  Greene  had  been  concerned.3  Such 
evidence  as  remains  upon  this  point  has  been  adduced  in 
our  "  Introduction"  to  "  The  Third  Part  of  Henry  VI. ;"  and 
a  perusal  of  the  two  pai-ts  of  the  "  Contention,"  in  theii 
original  state,  w.ill  serve  to  show  the  condition  of  our  dra- 
matic literature  at  that  great  epoch  of  our  stage-history, 
when  Shakespeare  began  to  acquire  celebrity.4  "The  True 

1  In  the  History  of  English  Dramatic  Poetry  and  the  Stage,  vol. 
iii.,  p.  139,  it  is  incautiously  stated,  that  "  the  character  of  Shakes- 
peare's Richard  II.  seems  modelled  in  no  slight  ' 
fcdward  II."  We  willingly  adopt  the  qualific: 
upon  this  point,  where  he  says,  (il  Introduction 
Europe,"  vol.  ii.,  p.  171,  edit.  1S43,)  "  1  am  relu 
Shakespeare  modelled  his  characters  by  those  of  others ;  and  it  is 
natural  to  ask  whether  there  were  not  an  extraordinary  likeness  in 
ihe  dispositions,  as  well  as  in  the  fortunes  of  the  two  kings  ?" 

'•>  In  our  biographical  account  of  Shakespeare,  under  the  date  of 
159-2,  we  have  necessarily  entered  more  at  large  into  this  question. 

>  Mr.  Hallam  (u  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe."  vol.  ii., 
p.  171)  supposes  that  the  words  of  Greene,  referring  to  Shakespeare, 
"There  is  an  upstart  crow  beautified  with  our  feathers."  are  addressed 
tc  Marlowe,  who  may  have  had  a  principal  share  in  the  production 
of  the  two  parts  of  the  ''Contention."  This  conjecture  is  certainly 
more  than  plausible  ;  but  we  may  easily  imagine  Greene  to  have 
illuded  to  himself  also,  and  that  he  had  been  Marlowe's  partner  in 
In*  composition  of  the  two  dramas,  which  Shakespeare  remodelled, 
— ----i,  not  very  long  before  th  ' 
ey  nave  been  accurately  i 


. 

Edward  II."    We  willingly  adopt  the  qualification  of  Mr.  Hallam 

the  Literature  of 


, 
perhaps,  not  very  long  before  the  death  of  Greene. 

They  have  been  accurately  reprinted  by  the  Shakespeare  Society 
°f  Ml'  H<ah"re"-  from  the  earliest  impressions  in 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE. 

Tragedy  of  Richard  IIL"  is  a  drama  of  about  the  same 
period,  which  has  come  down  to  us  in  a  much  more  imper- 
fect state,  the  original  manuscript  having  been  obviously 
very  corrupt  It  was  printed  in  1594,  and  Shakespeare, 
finding  it  in  the  possession  of  the  company  to  which  he 
was  attached,  probably  had  no  scruple  in  constructing  hia 
"Richard  the  Third"  of  some  of  its  rude  materials.  It 
seems  not  uulikely  that  Robert  Greene,  and  perhaps  some 
other  popular  dramatists  of  his  day,  had  been  engaged 
upon  "  The  True  Tragedy  of  Richard  III." J 

The  dramatic  works  published  under  the  name  or  initials 
of  Robert  Greene,  or  by  extraneous  testimony  ascertained 
to  be  his,  were  "Orlando  Furioso,"  (founded  upon  the 
poems  of  Boiardo  and  Ariosto,)  first  printed  in  1594;a 
"  Friar  Bacon  and  Friar  Bungav,"  also  first  printed  in  1594, 
and  taken  from  a  popular  story-book  of  the  time ;  "  Al- 
phousus  King  of  Arragon,"  1599,  for  which  we  know  of  no 
original ;  aud  "  James  the  Fourth"  of  Scotland,  1598, 
partly  borrowed  from  history,  and  partly  mere  invention. 
Greene  also  joined  with  Thomas  Lodge  in  writing  a  species 
of  moral-miracle-play,  (partaking  of  the  nature  of  both,) 
under  the  title  of  "  A  Looking-Glass  for  London  and  Eng- 
land," 1594,  derived  from  sacred  history;  and  to  him  lias 
also  been  imputed  "George  a  Greene,  the  Pinner  of  Wake- 
field,"  aud  "  The  Contention  between  Liberality  and  Prodi- 
gality," the  one  printed  in  1599,  and  the  other  "in  1602.  It 
may  be  seriously  doubted  whether  he  had  any  hand  in  the 
two  last,  but  the  productions  above-named  deserve  atten- 
tion, as  works  written  at  an  early  date  for  the  gratification 
of  popular  audiences. 

In  the  passage  already  referred  to  from  the  "  Groats- 
vro'/th  of  Wit,"  1592,  Greene  also  objects  to  Shakespeare 
on  the  ground  that  be  thought  himself  "  as  well  able  to 
bombast  out  a  bkmk-verse"  as  the  best  of  his  contempora- 
ries. The  fact  is,  that  in  this  respect,  as  in  all  others, 
Greene  was  much  inferior  to  Marlowe,  and  still  less  can  his 

1  This  drama  has  also  been  reprinted  by  the  Shakespeare  Society, 
with  perfect  fidelity  to  the  original  edition  of  1594,  in  the  library  of 
the  Duke  of  Devonshire.     The  reprint  was  superintended  by  Mr.  B. 
Field. 

2  In  "The  History  of  English  Dramatic  Poetry  and  the  Stage," 
vol.  iii.,  p.  15.3,  it  is  observed  of  "Orlando  Purioso  :'' — "How  far  this 
play  was  printed  according  to  the  authors  copy,  we  have  no  means 
of  deciding ;  but  it  has  evidently  come  down  to  us  in  a  very  imper- 
fect state."     Means  of  determining  the  point  beyond  dispute  have 
*ioce  been  discovered  in  a  manuscript  of  the  part  of  Orlando  (a*  -writ- 
ten out  ibr  Edward  Alleyn  by  the  copyist  of  the  thea'.re)  preserved  at 
Pulwich  College.     Hence  it  is  clear  that  much  was  omitted  and  cor 
ropted  in  the  two  printed  editions  of  1591  and  1599.     See  the  ".V.* 
moire  of  Edward  Alleyn,"  p.  193. 


tl  HISTORY    OF    THE    ENGLISH    8TAGB 

line?  bear  comparison  with  those  of  Shakespeare.  H« 
doubtless  began  to  write  for  the  stage  in  rhyme,  and  his 
blank-verse  preserves  nearly  all  the  defects  of  th-it  early 
form :  it  reads  heavily  and  monotonously,  without  variety 
of  pause  and  inflection,  and  almost  the  only  difference  be- 
tween it  and  rhyme  is  the  absence  of  corresponding  sounds 
at  the  ends  of  the  lines. 

The  same  defects,  and  in  quite  as  striking  a  degree,  lie- 
long  to  another  of  the  dramatists  who  is  entitled  to  be  con-  . 
eidered  a  predecessor  of  Shakespeare,  and  whose  name  has 
been  before  introduced— Thomas  Lodge.  Only  one  play  in 
which  he  was  unassisted  has  descended  to  us,  and  it  bears 
the  title  of  "  The  Wounds  of  Civil  War,  lively  set  forth  in 
the  True  Tragedies  of  Marius  and  Sylla,"  It  was  not 
printed  until  1594,  but  the  author  began  to  write  as  early 
as  1580,  and  we  may  safely  consider  his  tragedy  anterior 
to  the  original  works  of  Shakespeare:  it  was  probably 
written  about  1587  or  1588,  as  a  not  very  successful  experi- 
ment in  blank-verse,  in  imitation  of  that  style  which  Mar- 
lowe had  at  once  rendered  popular. 

As  regards  the  dates  when  his  pieces  came  from  the 
press,  John  Lyly  is  entitled  to  earlier  notice  than  Greene, 
Lodge,  or  even  Marlowe;  and  it  is  possible,  as  he  was  ten 
years  older  than  Shakespeare,  that  he  was  a  writer  before 
any  of  them :  it  does  not  seem,  however,  that  his  dramas 
were  intended  for  the  public  stage,  but  for  court-shows  or 
private  entertainments.'  His  "  Alexander  and  Campaspe," 
the  best  of  his  productions,  was  represented  at  Court,  and 
it  was  twice  printed,  in  1584,  and  again  in  1591 :  it  is,  like 
most  of  this  author's  productions,  in  prose  ;  but  his  "  Wo- 
man in  the  Moon"  (printed  in  1597)  is  in  blauk-veiM',  and 
the  "Maid's  Metamorphosis,"  1600,  (if  indeed  it  be  by  him,) 
is  in  rhyme.  As  none  of  these  dramas,  generally  com- 
posed in  a  refined,  affected,  and  artificial  style,  can  be  said 
to  have  had  any  material  influence  upon  stage-entertain- 
ments before  miscellaneous  audiences  in  London,  it  is  un- 
necessary for  our  present  purpose  to  say  more  regarding 
them. 

George  Peele  was  about  the  same  age  as  Lyly  ;*  but  hia 

1  They  were  acted  by  the  children  of  the  chapel,  or  by  the  childif  n 
of  St.  Paul's,  and  a  few  of  them  bear  evidence  on  the  ti'fle-pa-es  that 
they  were  presented  at  a  private  theatre— none  of  them  that  they  had 
been  played  upon  public  stages  before  popular  audiences. 

•"He  is  supposed  to  have  been  born  about  the  year  1553.  He  was 
irobably  son  to  Stephen  Peele.  who  was  a  bookseller  and  a  writer  of 
be.ll.vU.  Stephen  Peele  was  the  publisher  of  Bishop  Bale's  miracle- 
'ftV  of  "Gods  Promises,"  in  1577,  and  his  name  is  subscribed,  as 
author  to  two  Ballads  printed  by  the  Percy  Society  in  the  earliest 
iction  from  th«,r  pr^ss  The  connexion  between  Stephen  and 
U*or(ZB  lecle  nas  never  struck  any  of  the  biographers  of  the  la.lcr 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  x' 

theatrical  productions  (-with  the  exception  of  "The  Ar. 
raignmeut  of  Paris,"  printed  in  1584.  and  written  for  the 
court)  are  of  a  different  description,  having  been  intended 
for  exhibition  at  the  ordinary  theatres.  His  "Edward  the 
First"  he  calls  a  '•  famous  chronicle,"  and  most  of  the  inci- 
dents are  derived  from  history  :  it  is,  in  fact,  one  of  our 
earliest  plays  founded  upon  English  annals.  It  was  printed 
in  1593  and  in  1599,  but  with  so  many  imperfections,  that 
we  cannot  accept  it  as  any  fair  representation  of  the  state 
in  which  it  came  from  "the  author's  pen.  The  most  re- 
markable feature  belonging  to  it  is  the  unworthy  manner 
in  which  Peele  sacrificed  the  cliaracter  of  the  Queen  to  hia 
desire  to  gratify  the  popular  antipathy  to  the  Spaniards  : 
the  opening  of  it  is  spirited,  and  affords  evidence  of  the 
authors  skill  as  a  writer  of  blank-verse.  His  "Battle  of 
Alcazar"  may  also  be  termed  a  historical  drama,  in  which 
he  allowed  himself  the  most  extravagant  licence  as  to 
time,  incidents,  and  characters.  It  perhaps  preceded  his 
"  Edward  the  First"  in  point  of  date,  (though  not  printed 
until  1594.)  and  the  principal  event  it  refers  to  occurred  in 
1578.  "  Sir  Clyomon  and  Clamydes"  is  merely  a  romaBce, 
in  the  old  form  of  a  rhyming  play  •/  and  '•  David  and  Beth- 
sabe,"  a  scriptural  drama,  and  a  great  improvement  upon 
older  pieces  of  the  same  description  :  Peele  here  confined 
himself  strictly  to  the  incidents  in  Holy  Writ,  and  it  cer- 
tainly contains  the  best  specimens  of  his  blank-verse  com- 
position. His  "  Old  Wives'  Tale,"  in  the  shape  in  which  it 
has  reached  us,  seems  hardly  deserving  of  criticism,  and  it 
would  have  received  little  notice  but  for  some  remote,  and 
perhaps  accidental,  resemblance  between  its  story  and  that 
of  Milton's  "  Comus."  2 

Stephen  Peele  was  most  likely  the  author  of  a  pageant  on  the  mayor- 
alty of  Sir  W.  Draper,  in  150(5-7.  of  which  an  account  is  given  by 
Mr.  Fairholt,  in  his  work  upon  "  Lord  Mayors'  Pageants.''  printed 
for  the  Percy  Society  :  he  erroneously  supposed  it  to  have  been  the 
work  of  George  Peele.  who  could  not  then  have  been  more  than  four 
teen  years  old,  even  if  we  carry  back  the  date  of  his  birth  to  1553. 
George  Peele  was  dead  in  loiK 

1  It  may  be  doubted  whether  Peele  wrote  any  part  of  this  produc 
lion  :  it  was  printed  anonymously  in  1599,  and  all  the  evidence  of 
authorship  is  the  existence  of  a  copy  with  the  name  of  Peele,  i;.  an 
old  hand,  upon  the  title-page.  If  he  wrote  it  at  all.  it  was  doubtless 
a  very  early  composition,  and  it  belongs  precisely  to  the  class  of  ro 


nntic  plays  ridiculed  by  Stephen  Gosson  about 
»  See  Milton's  Minor  Poems,  by  T. 


,  by  T.  Warton.  p.  135.  edit.  1791.    Of 

this  resemblance.  Warton.  who  first  pointed  it  out.  remarks.  "  That 
Milton  had  an  eye  on  this  ancient  drama,  which  might  have  been  a 
faTourite  in  his  early  youth,  perhaps  it  may  be  affirmed  with  at  least 
as  much  credibility.  as'that  he  conceived  the  Paradise  Lost  from  seeing 
a  mystery  at  Florence  written  by  Adreini,  a  Florentine,  in  1617, 
entitled  Adamo."  The  fact  may  have  been,  that  Pee'.e  and  Milton 
resorted  to  the  same  original,  now  lost:  "The  Old  Wives'  Talt'' 
wads  exactly  as  if  it  were  founded  upon  some  popular  story-book. 
VOL.  I.  4 


JtlH  HISTORY    OF    THE    ENGLISH    STAGE 

The  "  Jeronimo"  of  Thomas  Kyd  is  to  be  looked  upou  aa 
a  species  of  transition  play:  the  date  of  its  composition, 
on  the  testimony  of  Ben  Jonson,  may  be  stated  to  be  prior 
to  15881,  just  after  Marlowe  had  produced  his  "  Tambur- 
laine,"  and  when  Kyd  hesitated  to  follow  his  bold  step  to 
the  full  extent  of  his  progress.  "  Jeronimo"  is  therefore 
partly  iu  blank-verse,  and  partly  in  rhyme :  the  same  ob- 
servation -will  apply,  though  not  in  the  «me  degree,  to 
Kyd's  "  Spanish  Tragedy :"  it  is  in  truth  a  second  part  of 
"  Jeronimo,"  the  story  being  continued  from  one  play  to  the 
other,  and  managed  with  considerable  dexterity.  The  in- 
terest in  the  latter  is  great,  and  generally  well  sustained, 
and  some  of  the  characters  are  drawn  with  no  little  art  and 
force.  The  success  of  "  Jeronimo,"  doubtless,  induced  Kyd 
to  write  the  second  part  of  it  immediately  ;  and  we  need 
not  hesitate  in  concluding  that  "  The  Spanish  Tragedy"  had 
been  acted  before  1590. 

Besides  Marlowe,  Greene,  Lodge,  Lyly,  Peele,  and  Kyd, 
there  were  other  dramatists,  who  may  be  looked  upon  as 
the  immediate  predecessors  of  Shakespeare,  but  few  of 
whose  printed  works  are  of  an  earlier  date,  as  regards 
composition,  than  some  of  those  which  came  from  the  pen 
of  our  great  poet.  Among  these,  Thomas  Nash  was  the 
most  distinguished,  whose  contribution  to  "  Dido,"  in  con- 
junction with  Marlowe,  has  been  before  noticed :  the  por- 
tions which  came  from  the  pen  of  Marlowe  are,  we  think, 
easily  to  be  distinguished  from  those  written  by  Nash, 
whose  genius  does  not  seem  to  have  been  of  an  imaginative 
or  dramatic,  but  of  a  satirical  and  objurgatory  character. 
He  produced  alone  a  piece  called  "  Summer's  Last  Will 
and  Testament,"  which  was  written  in  the  autumn  of  1592, 
but  not  printed  uutil  1600:  it  bears  internal  evidence  that 
it  was  exhibited  as  a  private  show,  and  it  could  never  have 
bc«n  meant  for  public  performance.8  Henry  Chettle.  who 
was  also  senior  to  Shakespeare,  has  left  behind  him  a 
tragedy  called  "Hoffman,"  which  was  not  printed  until 

»In  the  Induction  to  his  "Cynthia's  Revels."  acted  in  1(300. 
•where  he  is  speaking  of  the  revival  of  plays,  and  among  others  of 
"  the  ^old  Jeronimo,"  which,  he  adds,  had  "  departed  a  dozen  yean 

4  It  can  be  shown  to  have  been  represented  at  Croydon,  notloub; 
at  Beddington.  the  residence  of  the  Carews,  under  whose  palrona<r« 
Nnsh  acknowledges  himself  to  have  been  living.  See  the  dedication 
to  his  "  Terrors  of  the  Night,"  4to.  1594.  The  date  of  the  death  of 
r»a»h,  who  probably  took  a  part  in  the  representation  of  his  "  Sum- 
mer's Last  Will  and  Testament,"  has  been  disputed— whether  it  was 
before  or  after  1601  ;  but  the  production  of  a  cenotaph  upon  him. 
from  Fitz-geotfrey  s  Afanies,  printed  in  16(11,  must  put  an  end  to  all 
doubt,  See  the  Introductio*  to  Nash's  "Pierce  Pennyless,"  1592,  a* 
'«pnnt«d  for  the  Shakespeare  Society. 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  xliii 

1630 ;  and  lie  was  engaged  with  Anthony  Munday  in  pro- 
ducing "  The  Death  of  Robert  Earl  of  Huntingtou,* 
printed  in  1601.  From  Henslowe'a  Diary  we  learn  that 
both  these  pieces  were  written  subsequent  to  the  date  when 
Shakespeare  had  acquired  a  high  reputation.  Monday  had 
been  a  dramatist  as  early  as  1584,  when  a  rhyming  trans- 
lation by  him,  under  the" title  of  "The  Two  Italian  Gentle- 
men," came  from  the  press ;'  and  in  the  interval  between 
that  year  and  1602,  he  w-rote  the  whole  or  parts  of  various 
plays  which  have  been  lost"  Robert  Wilson  ought  not  to 
be  omitted :  he  seems  to  have  been  a  prolific  dramatist, 
but  only  one  comedy  by  him  has  survived,  under  the  title 
of  "  The  Cobbler's  Prophecy,"  and  it  was  printed  in  1594. 
According  to  the  evidence  of  Henslowe,  he  aided  Dray  ton 
and  Honda;  in  writing  "The  First  Part  of  the  Life  of  Sir 
John  Oldcastle,"  printed  in  1600 ;  but  he  must  at  that  date 
have  been  old,  if  he  were  the  same  Robert  Wilson  who  waa 
one  of  Lord  Leicester's  theatrical  servants  in  1574,  and 
who  became  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  company  called  the 
Queen's  Players  in  1583.  He  seems  to  have  been  a  low 
comedian,  and  his  "Cobbler's  Prophecy"  is  a  piece,  the 
drollery  of  which  must  have  depended  "in  a  great  degree 
upon  the  performers. 

With  regard  to  mechanical  facilities  for  the  representa- 
tion of  plays  before,  and  indeed  long  after,  the  time  of 
Shakespeare,  it  may  be  sufficient  to  state,  that  our  old  pub- 
lic theatres  were  merely  round  wooden  buildings,  open  to 
the  sky  in  the  audience  part  of  the  house,  although  the 
stage  was  covered  by  a  hanging  roof :  the  spectators  stood 
on  the  ground  in  front  or  at  the  sides,  or  were  accommo- 
dated in  boxes  round  the  inner  circumference  of  the  edifice, 
or  in  galleries  at  a  greater  elevation.  Our  ancient  stage 
was  unfurnished  with  moveable  scenery ;  and  tables,  chairs, 
a  few  boards  for  a  battlemented  wall,  or  a  rude  structure 
for  a  tomb  or  an  altar,  seem  to  have  been  nearly  all  the 
properties  it  possessed.  It  was  usually  hung  round  with 
decayed  tapestry ;  and  as  there  was  no  other  mode  of  con- 
veyiiig  the  necessary  information,  the  author  often  provided 
that  the  player,  on"  his  entrance,  should  take  occasion  to 
mention  the  place  of  action.  When  the  business  of  a  piece 
required  that  the  stage  should  represent  two  apartments, 
the  effect  was  accomplished  by  a  curtain,  called  a  traverse, 

1  The  only  known  copy  of  this  comedy  is  without  a  title-page,  but 
it  was  entered  at  Stationers'  Hall  for  publication  in  15e4,  and  we 
may  presume  that  it?  was  printed  about  that  date. 

*  He  had  some  share  in  writing  the  first  part  of  the  "Life  of  Sir 
lohn  Oldcastle."  which  was  printed  as  Shakespeare's  work  in  10(K), 
ilthough  some  copies  of  the  play  exist  without  1  .s  name  on  the  title- 
page. 


Xliv  HISTORY    OF   THE    ENGLISH    STAGE 

drawn  across  it ;  and  a  sort  of  balcony  in  the  rear  enabled 
the  writer  to  represent  his  characters  tit  a  window,  on  th« 
platform  of  a  castle,  or  on  an  elevated  terrace. 

To  this  simplicity,  and  to  these  deficiencies,  we  doubt- 
less owe  some  of  the  finest  passages  in  our  early  plays ;  for 
it  was  part  of  the  business  of  the  dramatist  to  supply  the 
absence  of  coloured  canvas  by  grandeur  and  luxuriance 
of  description.  The  ear  was  thus  made  the  substitute  for 
the  eye,  and  the  poet's  pen,  aided  by  the  auditor's  imagina- 
tion, more  than  supplied  the  place  of  the  painter's  brush. 
Moveable  scenery  was  unknown  in  our  public  theatres  until 
after  the  Restoration ;  and,  as  has  been  observed  elsewhere, 
"  the  introduction  of  it  gives  the  date  to  the  commence- 
ment of  the  decline  of  our  dramatic  poetry." ' 

How  far  propiiety  of  costume  was  regarded,  we  have 
no  sufficient  means  of  deciding ;  but  we  apprehend  that 
more  attention  was  paid  to  it  than  has  been  generally  sup- 
posed, or  thau  was  accomplished  at  a  much  later  and  more 
refined  period.  It  is  indisputable,  that  often  in  this  depart- 
ment no  outlay  was  spared  :  the  most  costly  dresses  were 
purchased,  that  characters  might  be  consistently  habited ; 
and,  as  a  single  proof,  we  may  mention,  that  sometimes 
more  than  20/.  were  given  for  a  cloak,2  an  enormous  price, 
when  it  is  recollected  that  money  was  then  five  or  six  times 
as  valuable  as  at  present 

We  have  thus  briefly  stated  all  that  seems  absolutely  re- 
quired to  give  the  reader  a  correct  notion  of  the  state  of 
the  English  drama  and  stage  at  the  period  when,  according 
to  the  best  judgment  we  can  form  from  such  evidence  as 
remains  to  us,  Shakespeare  advanced  to  a  forward  place 
among  the  dramatists  of  the  day.  As  long  ago  as  1679, 
Dryden  gave  currency  to  the  notion,  which  we  have  shown 
to  be  mistaken,  that  Shakespeare  "  created  first  the  stage," 
and  he  repeated  it  in  1692 :3  it  is  not  necessary  to  the  just 

1  "  History  of  Engl.  Dram.  Poetry  and  the  Stage."  vol.  iii..  p  360. 
»  See  "  The  Alleyn  Papers,"  printed  by  the  Shakespeare  Society, 

i  ,-n1"  hi*  fro'og116  to  the  alteration  of  "Troilus  and  Cressida," 
1«/0,  he  puts  these  lines  into  the  mouth  of  the  Ghost  of  Shakes- 
peare :— 

"Untaught,  unpractis'd,  in  a  barbarous  age, 

I  found  not,  but  created  first  the  stage." 

in  Urn  dedication  of  the  translation  of  Juvenal,  thirteen  years  after- 
wards, Urydcn  repeats  the  same  assertion  in  nearly  the  same  words  j 
id  the  stage  among  us."     Shakespeare  did  not  create  the 
*tace.  and  least  of  all  did  he  create  it  such  as  it  existed  in  the  time 
Uryden  :  "it  was,  in  truth,  created  by  no  one  man   and  in  no  one 
;e;  and  whatever  improvements  Shakespeare  introduced,  when  he 
egan  to  write  for  the  theatre  our  romantic  drama  was  completely 

h       <L  to " The  n"1- of  EneK  v'a 


TO    THE    TIME    OF    SHAKESPEARE.  xv 

adniiuation  of  our  noble  dramatist,  that  we  should  do  injus- 
tice to  his  predecessors  or  earlier  contemporaries :  on  the 
contrary,  his  miraculous  powers  are  best  to  be  estimated  by 
a  comparison  with  his  ablest  rivals ;  and  if  he  appear  not 
greatest  when  his  works  are  placed  beside  those  of  Mar- 
lowe, Greene,  Peele,  or  Lodge,  however  distinguished  their 
rank  as  dramatists,  and  however  deserved  their  popularity, 
we  shall  be  content  to  think,  that  for  more  than  two  cen- 
turies the  world  has  been  under  a  delusion  as  to  his  claims. 
JT«  rose  to  eminence,  and  he  maintained  it,  amid  struggles 
for  equality  by  men  of  high  genius  and  varied  talents ;  and 
with  his  example  ever  since  before  us,  no  poet  of  our  own, 
or  of  any  other  country,  has  even  approached  his  excel- 
lence. Shakespeare  is  greatest  by  a  comparison  with  great- 
Dees,  or  he  is  nothing. 


THE    LIFE 


WILLIAM   SHAKESPEARE 


CHAPTER  L 

No  Shakespeare  advanced  or  rewarded  by  Henry  VII.  An- 
tiquity or  the  Shakespeare*  in  Warwickshire,  &c.  Earliest 
occurrence  of  the  name  at  Stratford-upon-Avon.  The 
Trade  of  John  Shakespeare.  Richard  Shakespeare  of  Snit- 
terfield,  probably  father  to  John  Shakespeare,  and  cer- 
tainly tenant  to  Robert  Arden,  father  of  John  Shakespeare's 
wife.  Robert  Arden'a  seven  daughters.  Antiquity  and 
property  of  the  Arden  family.  Marriage  of  John  Shakes- 
peare and  Mary  Arden  :  iheir  circumstances.  Purchase 
of  two  houses  in  Stratford  by  John  Shakespeare.  His 
progress  in  the  corporation. 

IT  has  been  supposed  that  some  of  the  paternal  ances- 
tors of  William  Shakespeare  were  advanced,  and  rewarded 
with  lands  and  tenements  in  Warwickshire,  for  services 
rendered  to  Henry  VIL1  The  rolls  of  that  reign  have 
been  recently  most  carefully  searched,  and  the  name  of 
Shakespeare,  according  to  any  mode  of  spelling  it,  does 
not  occur  in  them. 

Many  Shakespeares  were  resident  in  different  parts  of 
Warwickshire,  as  well  as  in  some  of  the  adjoining  counties, 
at  an  early  date.  The  register  of  the  Guild  of  St.  Anne  of 
Knolle,  or  Knowle,  beginning  in  1407  and  ending  in  1535, 
when  it  was  dissolved,  contains  various  repetitious  of  the 
name,  during  the  reigns  of  Henry  VI.,  Edward  IV.,  Rich- 
ard III,  Henry  VIL,  aud  Henry"  VIII :  we  there  find  a 
Thomas  Shakespere  of  Balishalle,  or  Balsal,  Thomas 
Chacsper  and  John  Shakespeyre  of  Rowington,  Richard 
Shakspere  of  Woldiche,  together  with  Joan,  Jane,  and 
William  Shakespeare,  of  places  not  mentioned  :  an  Isabella 

i  On  the  authority  of  a  grant  of  arms  from  the  Herald's  College  tc 
John  Shakespeare,  which  circumstance  is  considered  hereafter. 


THE    LIFE    OP 

Shakspere  is  also  there  stated  to  have  been  prioris.ta  <fc 
Wraxale  in  the  19th  Henry  VII.1  The  Shakespeares  of 
Wroxal,  of  Rowington,  and  of  Balsal,  are  mentioned  by 
Malone,  as  well  as  other  persons  of  the  same  name  at 
Claverdon  and  Hampton.  He  carrier  back  his  information 
regarding  the  Shakespoar  i.s  of  Wai-wick  no  higher  than 
1602,  but  a  William  Shakespeare  was  drowned  in  the 
Avon  near  Warwick  in  1574,  a  John  Shakespeare  was 
resident  on  "the  High  Pavement"  in  1678,  and  a  Thomas 
Shakespeare  in  the  same  place  in  1585." 

The  earliest  date  at  which  we  hear  of  a  Shakespeare  in 
the  borough  of  Stratford-upon-Avon  is  17th  June,  1555, 
when  Thomas  Siche  instituted  a  proceeding  in  the  court  of 
the  bailiff,  for  the  recovery  of  the  sum  of  8/.  from  John 
Shakespeare,  who  has  always  been  taken  to  be  the  father 
of  our  great  dramatist.  Thomas  Siche  was  of  Arlescote, 
or  Arscotte,  in  Worcestershire,  and  in  the  Latin  record  of 
the  suit  «  ohu  Shakespeare  is  called  "  glover,"  in  English. 
Taking  it  for  granted,  as  we  have  every  reason  to  do,  that 
this  Jolm  Shakespeare  was  the  father  of  the  poet,  the 
docitneut  satisfied  Malone  that  he  was  a  glover,  and  not  a 
butcher,  as  Aubrey  had  affirmed,8  nor  a  dealer  in  wool,  as 
Rowe  had  stated.*  We  think  that  Malone  was  light,  and 
the  testimony  is  unquestionably  more  positive  and  authen- 

i  For  this  information  we  are  indebted  to  Mr.  Staunton,  of  Long- 
bridge  House,  near  Warwick,  the  owner  of  the  original  Registerium 
fratrum  et  Serorum.  Gitde  Sancte  Anne  de  Knolle,  a  MS.  upon 
vellum. 

*  For  the  circumstan«e  of  the  drowning  W  the  namesake  of  our 
poet,  we  are  obliged  to  the  Rev.  Joseph  Hunter.  Mr.  Charles 
Dickens  was  good  enough  to  be  the  medium  of  the  information 
respecting  the  Shakespeares  of  Warwick,  transmitted  from  Mr. 
Sandys,  who  derived  it  from  the  land-revenue,  records  of  &e  respec- 
tive periods. 

3  Aubrey's  words,  in  his  MS.  in  the  Ashmolean  Museum,  at  Ox- 
ford, are  these  :— "William  Shakespeare's  father  was  a  butcher,  and 
I  have  been  told  heretofore  by  some  of  the  neighbours,  that  when  he 
was  a  boy  he  exercised  his  father's  trade  ;  but  when  he  killed  a  calf, 
he  would  do  it  in  a  high  style,  and  make  a  speech."  This  tradition 
eertainly  does  not  read  like  truth,  and  at  what  date  Aubrey  obtained 
his  information  has  not  been  ascertained  :  Malone  conjectured  that 
Aubrey  was  in  Stratford  about  IGsiO  :  he  died  about  17UU,  and,  in  all 
probability,  obtained  his  knowledge  from  the  same  source  as  the 
writer  of  a  letter,  dated  April  10,  1093,  to  Mr.  Edward  Southwell, 

dited  in  1638.  h  appears  from  hence  that  the  parish  clerk  of  Strat- 
,  who  was  "above  eighty  years  old"  in  1003,  had  told  Mr.  Ed- 
ward Southwell's  correspondent  that  William  Shakespeare  had  been 
'•  bound  apprentice  to  a  butcher;"  but  he  did  not  say  that  his  fathei 
«ras  a  butcher,  nor  did  he  add  any  thing  as  absurd  as  Aubrey  sub- 
p>ins,  respecting  the  killing  of  a  calf  "  in  a  high  style." 

«  Rowe  is  supposed  to  have  derived  his  materials  from  Retterton, 
the  actor,  who  died  in  1710,  and  who,  it  is  said  went  to  Stratford  to 
•ollect  such  particulars  as  could  be  obtained  :  t'.e  date  of  his  viiit  il 


TVILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  xl'lX 

tic  than  the  traditions  to  which  we  have  referred.  As  it  is 
also  the  most  ancient  piece  of  direct  evidence  connected 
with  the  establishment  of  the  Shakespeare  family  at  Strat- 
ford, and  as  Malone  did  not  copy  it  quite  accurately  from 
the  register  of  the  bailiff's  court,  we  quote  it  as  it  theie 
stands:— 

"  Stretford,  RS.  Cur.  Phi.  et  Maria  Dei  gra,  &c.  secundo  ct 
tercio,  ibiii  tent,  die  Marcurii  videlicet  xvij  die  Junij  ann, 
predict,  coram  Johiie  Barbage  IW'  iuo,  &c. 

Thomas  Siche  de  Arscotte  in  com.  Wigorn.  querit'  versus 
John  Shakyspere  de  Stretford  in  com.  Wurwic.  Glou  in  plac. 
quod  reddat  ei  oct.  libras  &c." 

John  Shakespeare's  trade,  "  glover,"  is  expressed  by  the 
common  contraction  for  the  termination  of  the  word ;  and 
it  is,  as  usual  at  the  time,  spelt  with  the  letter  -n  instead  of 
v.  It  deserves  remark  also,  that  although  John  Shakes- 
peare is  often  subsequently  mentioned  in  the  records  of 
the  corporation  of  Stratford,  no  addition  ever  accompanies 
his  name.  We  may  presume  that  in  1556,  he  was  estab- 
lished in  his  business,  because  on  the  30th  April  of  that 
year  he  was  one  of  twelve  jurymen  of  a  court-leek  His 
name  in  the  list  was  at  first  struck  through  with  a  pen,  but 
underneath  it  the  word  stet  was  written,  probably  by  the 
town-clerk.  Thus  we  find  him  in  1556  acting  as  a  regular 
trading  inhabitant  of  the  borough  of  Stratford-upon-Avou. 

Little  doubt  can  be  entertained  that  he  came  from  Suit- 
tertield,  three  miles  from  Stratford ;  and  upon  this  point  we 
have  several  new  documents  before  us.  It  appears  from 
them,  that  a  person  of  the  name  of  Richard  Shakespeare 
(no  where  before  mentioned)  was  resident  at  Snitterfield  in 
1550 :'  he  was  tenant  of  a  house  and  land  belonging  to 
Robert  Arden  (or  Ardern,  as  the  name  was  anciently  spelt, 
and  as  it  stands  in  the  papers  in  our  hands)  of  Wilmecote,  in 
the  parish  of  Aston  Cautlowe.  Bv  a  couvevauce,  dated 
21st  Deo,  llth  Henry  VIII.  we  find  that  Robert  Ardeu 
then  became  possessed  of  houses  and  land  in  Suitterfield, 
from  Richard  Rushbv  and  his  wife :  from  Robert  Arden  the 
property  descended  to  his  son,  and  it  was  part  of  thie 
estate  which  was  occupied  by  Richard  Shakespeare  in  1550. 
We  have  no  distinct  evidence  upon  the  point ;  but  if  we 
suppose  Richard  Shakespeare  of  Snitterfield2  to  have  been 

1  In  1569,  a  person  of  the  name  of  Antony  Shakespeare  lived  at 
Snitterfi.ild,  and,  as  we  learn  from  the  Muster-book  of  the  COT  nty  of 
Warwick  for  that  year  in  the  State  Paper  office,  he  was  appointed  a 
'•  billraan." 

3  Richard  Shakespeare,  who,  upon  this  supposition,  was  the  grand- 
father of  the  poet,  was  living  in  1500,  when  Agnes  Arden.  widow, 
granted  a  lease  for  forty  years  to  Alexander  Webbe  (probably  some 
m<  inber  of  he;  own  family)  of  two  houses  and  a  cottage  in  Snitter- 


1  THE    LIFE    OF 

the  father  of  John  Shakespeare  of  Stratford,1  who  ruarriea 
Mary  Arden,  the  youngest  daughter  of  Robert  Arden,  it 
will  easily  and  naturally  explain  the  manner  in  which  John 
Shakespeare  became  introduced  to  the  family  of  the  Ar- 
dens,  inasmuch  as  Richard  Shakespeare,  the  father  of  John, 
aud  the  grandfather  of  William  Shakespeare,  was  one  of 
the  tenants  of  Robert  Arden. 

Malone,  not  having  the  information  we  now  possess  be- 
fore him,  was  of  opinion  that  Robert  Arden,  who  married 
Agnes  Webbe,  and  died  in  1656,  had  only  four  daughtei-s, 
but  the  fact  undoubtedly  is  that  he  had  at  least  seven.  On 
the  7th  and  17th  July,  1550,  he  executed  two  deeds,  by 
which  he  made  over  to  Adam  Palmer  and  Hugh  Porter,  in 
trust  for  some  of  his  daughters,  certain  lands  and  tene- 
ments in-  Suitterneld."  In  these  deeds  he  mentions  six 
daughters  by  name,  four  of  them  married  and  two  single  : 
—  viz^  Agues  Stringer,  (who  had  been  twice  married,  first 
to  John  Hewyns,)  Joan  Lambert,  Katherine  Etkins,  Mar 
garet  Webbe,  Jocose  Ardeu,  and  Alicia  Arden.  Mary,  his 
youngest  daughter,  was  not  included,  and  it  is  possible  that 
he  had  either  made  some  other  provision  for  her,  or  that, 
by  a  separate  and  subsequent  deed  of  trust,  he  gave  to  her 
an  equivalent  in  Suitterneld  for  what  he  had  made  over 
to  her  sisters.  It  is  quite  certain,  as  will  be  seen  hereafter, 
that  Mary  Arden  brought  property  in  Snitterfield,  as  part 
of  her  fortune,  to  her  husband  John  Shakespeare. 

Although  the  Ardens  were  an  ancient  aud  considerable 
family  in  Warwickshire,  which  derived  its  name  from  the 
forest  of  Ardeu,  or  Ardern,  in  or  near  which  they  had  pos- 
sessions, Robert  Arden,  in  the  two  deeds  above  referred  to, 
which  were  of  course  prepared  at  his  instance,  is  only 
called  "husbandman:"  —  "  Robertus  Ardern  de  Wilmecole, 
tn  parochia  de  Aston  Cantlowe,  in  comitatu  Warwici, 

3eld,  in  the  occupation  of  Richard  Shakespeare  and  two  others. 
Malone  discovered  that  there  was  also  a  Henry  Shakespeare  resident 
%t  Snitterfield  in  15SO,  and  he  apprehended  (there  is  little  doubt  of 
the  fact)  that  he  was  the  brother  of  John  Shakespeare.  Henry 
dhakespeare  was  buried  Dec.  29th,  1596.  There  was  also  a  Thomna 
Bhakespeare  in  the  same  village  in  1532,  and  he  may  have  been 
Shake"  ear011*61  °f  J°h"  ShakesPeare>  and  a11  three  sons  to  Riohard 
1  This  is  rendered  the  more  probable  by  the  fact  that  John  Shakes- 
peare christened  one  of  his  children  (born  in  1573)  Richa'd.  Malone 
found  that  another  Richard  Shakespeare  was  living  at  Rowington  in 

>  They  are  thus  described  :  "  Totum  iltud  messuagium  meum.  et 
rei  quartronas  terra,  cum  prutis  eisdem  pcrtinoititius.  cum  suis  per- 
tinent,,,, in  Snytterfylde.  qua,  nunc  gunt  in  tenura  cujusdam  Ricardi 
en/ry,  at.  totum  iilud  cot.tapium  meum.  cum  gardino  et  pomarto 


,,  cum  suispertinent.it*.  in  Snytterfyld,  qua, 
nura  Hngouis  Purler."    Adam  Palmer,  the  other  trusUe,  does  nol 
to  na-r«  occupied  any  part  of  the  property. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  11 

husbandman."  Nevertheless,  it  is  evident  from  his  will 
(dated  24th  November,  and  proved  on  the  17th  December, 
1556)  that  he  was  a  man  of  good  landed  estate.  He  men- 
tions his  wife's  "jointure  in  Snitterfield,"  payable,  no  doubt, 
out  of  some  other  property  than  that  which,  a  few  years 
before,  he  had  conveyed  to  trustees  for  the  benefit  of  six  of 
his  daughters ;  and  liis  freehold  and  copyhold  estates  in 
the  parish  of  Aston  Cantlowe  could  not  have  been  incon- 
siderable. Sir  John  Arden,  the  brother  of  his  grandfather, 
had  been  esquire  of  the  body  to  Henry  VIL,  and  his  ne- 
phew had  been  page  of  the  bedchamber  to  the  same 
monarch,  who  had  bountifully  rewarded  their  services  and 
fidelity.  Sir  John  Arden  died  in  1526,  and  it  was  his 
nephew,  Robert  Arden,  who  purchased  of  Rushby  and  his 
wife  the  estate  in  Suitterfield  in  1520.  He  was  the  father 
of  the  Robert  Arden  who  died  in  1556,  and  to  whose 
seventh  daughter,  Mary,  John  Shakespeare  was  married. 

No  registration  of  that  marriage  has  been  discovered, 
but  we  need  not  hesitate  in  deciding  that  the  ceremony 
took  place  in  1557.  Mary  Arden  and  her-  sister  Alicia 
were  certainly  unmarried,  when  they  were  appointed  "  ex- 
ec/itores'  under  their  father's  will,  dated  24th  Nov.,  1556, 
and  the  probability  seems  to  be  that  they  were  on  that 
account  chosen  for  the  office,  in  preference  to  their  five 
married  sisters.  Joan,  the  first  child  of  John  Shakespeare 
and  his  wife  Mary,  was  baptized  in  the  church  of  Stratford- 
upou-Avon  on  the  15th  Sept,  1558,1  so  that  we  may  fix 
their  union  towards  the  close  of  1557,  about  a  year  after 
the  death  of  Robert  Arden. 

What  were  the  circumstances  of  John  Shakespeare  at 
the  time  of  his  marriage,  we  can  only  conjecture.  It  haa 
oeen  shown  that  two  years  before  that  event,  a  claim  of  8/. 
was  made  upon  him  in  the  borough  court  of  Stratford,  and 
we  must  conclude,  either  that  the  monev  was  not  due  and 
the  demand  unjust,  or  that  he  was  unable  to  pay  the  debt, 
and  was  therefore  proceeded  against  lite  issue  of  the 
suit  is  not  known ;  but  in  the  next  year  he  seems  to  have 
been  established  in  business  as  a  glover,  a  branch  of  trade 
much  carried  on  in  that  part  of  the  kingdom,  and,  as  al 
ready  mentioned,  he  certainly  served  upon  the  jury  of  a 
court-leet  in  1556.  Therefore,  we  are,  perhaps,  justified  in 
thinking  that  his  affairs  were  sufficiently  prosperous  to 

ine  register  of  this  event  is  in  the  following  form,  under  th« 
head  "  Baptismes,  Anno  Doni.  1558  :" — 

•:  Septeber  15.  Jone  Shakspere  daughter  to  John  Shakspere." 
It  seems  likely  that  the  child  was  named  after  her  aunt,  Joan,  mar- 
ried to  Edward  Lambert  of  Barton  on  the  Heath.     Edward  Lambert 
was  related  to  Edmund  Lambert,  afterwards  mentioned 


Hi  THE    LIFE    OF 

warrant  his  union  with  the  youngest  of  seve  p  co-heiresses 
who  brought  him  some  independent  property. 

Under  her  father's  will  she  inherited  6/.  13s.  4d.  in 
money,  and  a  small  estate  in  fee,  in  the  parish  of  Aston 
Cautlowe,  called  Asbyes,  consisting  of  a  messuage,  fifty 
acres  of  arable  land,  six  acres  of  meadow  and  pasture,  and 
a  right  of  common  for  all  kinds  of  cattle.1  Malone  knew 
nothing  of  Mary  Arden's  property  in  Suitterfield,  to  which 
we  have  already  referred,  and,  without  it,  he  estimated  that 
her  fortune  was  equal  to  110^.  13s.  4d.,  which  seems  to  us 
rathor  an  uuder  calculation  of  its  actual  value.2  He  also 
speculated,  that  at  the  time  of  their  marriage  John  Shakes- 
peare was  twenty-seven  years  old,  and  Mary  Arden 
eighteen  ;s  but  the  truth  is  that  we  have  not  a  particle  of 
direct  evidence  upon  the  point.  Had  she  been  so  young, 
it  seems  very  unlikely  that  her  father  would  have  ap- 
pointed her  one  of  his  executors  in  the  preceding  year,  and 
we  are  inclined  to  think  that  she  must  have  been  of  full 
age  in  Nov.  1556. 

It  was  probably  in  contemplation  of  his  marriage  that, 
on  2d  October,  1556,  John  Shakespeare  became  the  owner 
of  two  copy -hold  houses  in  Stratford,  the  one  in  Greeuhill- 
street,  and  the  other  in  Henley-street,  which  were  alienated 
to  him  by  George  Tumor  aim  Edward  West,  respectively ; 
the  house  in  Greenhill-street  had  a  garden  and  croft  at- 
tached to  it,  and  the  house  in  Henley-street  only  a  garden  ; 
and  for  each  he  was  to  pay  to  the  lord  of  the  manor  an  an- 
nual rent  of  sixpence.4  In  1557  he  was  again  sworn  as  a 
juryman  upon  the  court-leet,  and  hi  the  spring  of  the  fol- 
lowing year  he  was  amerced  in  the  sum  of  fourpence  for 
not  keeping  clean  the  gutter  in  front  of  his  dwelling :  Fran- 
cis Burbage,  the  then  bailiff,  Adrian  Quiney,  "  Mr.  Hall  and 
Mr.  Clopton"  (so  their  names  stand  in  the  instrument)  were 
each  of  them  at  the  same  time  fined  a  similar  sum  for  the 

»  Shakspeare,  by  Boswell,  vol.  ii.  p.  25. 

*  The  terras  of  Robert  Arden's  bequest  to  his  daughter  Mary  are 
lh*se  :— "  Also  I  geve  and  bequeth  to  my  youngste  daughter.  Marye, 
all  my  lande  in  Willmecote.  called  Asbyes,  and  the  crop  upon  th» 
ground,  sowne  and  tyllede  as  hit  is  :  and  vjli.  xiijs.  iiijd.  of  money,  to 
be  payde  over  ere  my  goodes  be  devydede."  Hence  we  are  not  to  un- 
derstand that  he  had  no  more  land  in  Wilmecote  than  Asbyes.  but 
that  he  gave  his  daughter  Mary  all  his  land  in  Wilmecote,  which 
was  known  by  the  name  of  Asbyes. 

3  t-hakspeare,  by  Boswell,  vol.  ii.  p.  39. 
We  copy  the  following  descriptions  from  the  original  borough- 

cord,  only  avoiding  the  abbreviations,  which  render  it  less  Intel- 
Jgible  :— 

Item,  tjuodQeor/rius  Tumor  alirnavitJohanni  Shnkcspere,  be.  unvm  te- 
memeulum  cumgardin  et  croft,cum  pertinentilnts,  inGrenchytl  atrete.&c, 

Et  quud  Kduardus  West  altenavit  predicto  .iohanm  S/,a,etpert 
•««*  tenementum,  cum  fardin  adjacentc,  in  Henley  atrele. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  illl 

game  oeglect.'  It  is  a  point  of  little  importance,  but  it  is 
highly  probable  that  John  Shakespeare  was  first  admitted 
a  me'iuber  of  the  corporation  of  Stratford  iu  1557,  when 
ho  was  made  one  of  the  ale-tasters  of  the  town ;  and  iu 
Sept..  1558,  he  was  appointed  one  of  the  four  constables, 
liis  name  following  those  of  Humphrey  Plymley,  Roger 
Sadler,  and  John. Taylor.*  He  continued  constable  in  1559, 
his  associates  then  "being  John  Taylor,  William  Tyler,  and 
William  Smith,  and  he  was  besides  one  of  four  persons, 
called  atfeerors,  whose  duty  it  was  to  impose  fines  upon 
their  fellow-townsmen  (such  us,  he  had  himself  paid  in  1557) 
for  offences  against  the  bye-laws  of  the  borough. 


CHAPTER  II 

Death  of  John  Shakespeare's  eldest  child,  Joan.  Two  John 
Shakespeare*  in  Stratford.  Amercements  of  members  of 
the  corporation.  Birth  and  death  of  John  Shakespeare's 
second  child,  Margaret.  Birth  of  William  Shakespeare : 
his  birth -day,  and  the  house  in  which  he  was  born.  The 
plague  in  Stratford.  Contributions  to  the  sick  and  poor  by 
John  Shakespeare  end  others.  John  Shakespeare  elected 
alderman,  and  subsequently  bailiff.  Gilbert  Shake.«pear« 
born.  Another  dau<rhter,  baptized  Joan,  born.  Proofs 
that  John  Shakespeare  could  not  write. 

IT  was  while  John  Shakespeare  executed  the  duties  of 
constable  in  1558,  that  his  eldest  child,  Joan,  was  born,  hav- 
ing been  baptized,  as  already  stated,  on  the  15th  Septem- 
ber, of  that  year :  she  died  in  her  infancy,  and  as  her  burial 
does  not  appear  in  the  register  of  Stratford,  she  was,  per- 
haps, interred  at  Suitterfield,  where  Richard  Shakespeare, 
probably  the  father  of  John  Shakespeare,  still  resided,3  aa 

1  The  original  memorandum  runs  thus  : — 

li  Francis  Herbage,  Master  Baly  that  now  ys,  Adreane  Quyny, 
Mr.  Hall.  Mr.  Clopton,  for  the  gutter  alonge  the  chappell  in  Chap- 
pell  Lane.  John  Shakspeyr,  for  not  kepynge  of  their  gutters  cleane, 
they  stand  amerced." 

The  sum  which  they  were  so  amerced,  4d.,  is  placed  above  the  names 
of  each  of  the  parties. 

J  The  following  are  the  terms  used  : — 

"Item,  ther  trysty  and  welbelovyd  Humfrey  Plymley,  Koger 
Sadler.  John  Taylor,  and  John  Shakspeyr,  constabulles." 

3  This  fact  appears  from  a  lease,  before  noticed,  granted  on  21st 
May.  lotid.  by  Mary  Arden  to  Alexander  Webbe,  of  two  messuage*, 
with  a  cottage,  one  of  which  is  stated  then  to  be  in  the  occupation  ol 
Richard  Shakespeare.  We  quote  the  terms  of  the  original  deed  iu 
the  hands  of  the  Shakespeare  Society  :— "  Wytnesseth.  that  the  said 
Agnes  Arderne.  for  dyverse  and  sundry  consyderations,  hath  de- 
mysed  graunted,  &c.  to  the  said  Alexander  Webbe,  and  to  his  as- 
•signes  all  these  her  two  messuages,  with  a  cottage,  with  all  an"1 


llV  THE    LIFE    OF 

tenant  to  Agnes  Arden,  widow  of  Robert  Arden,  and  mo 
ther  of  Mary  Shakespeare.  In  respect  to  the  registers  of 
marriages,  baptisms,  and  deaths  at  Stratford,  some  confusion 
has  been  produced  by  the  indisputable  fact,  that  two  per- 
sons  of  the  name  of  John  Shakespeare  were  living  in  th« 
town  at  the  same  time,  and  it  is  not  always  easy  to  dis- 
tinguish between  the  entries  which  relate  to  the  one,  or  to 
the  other :  for  instance,  it  was  formerly  thought  that  John 
Shakespeare,  the  father  of  the  poet,  had  lost  his  first  wife, 
Mary  Ardeu,  and  had  taken  a  second,  in  consequence  of  a 
memorandum  in  the  register,  showing  that  on  the  25th  Nov., 
1584,  John  Shakespeare  had  married  Margery  Robert* : 
Malone,  however,  took  great  pains  to  prove,  and  may  be 
said  to  have  succeeded  in  proving,  that  this  entry  and 
others,  of  the  births  of  Philip,  Ursula,  and  Humphrey 
Shakespeare,  relate  to  John  Shakespeare,  a  shoemaker,1 
and  not  to  John  Shakespeare  the  glover. 

John  Shakespeare  was  again  chosen  one  of  the  four 
affeerors  of  Stratford  in  1561,  and  the  Shakespeare  Society 
is  in  possession  of  the  original  presentation  made  by  these 
officers  on  the  4th  May  in  that  year,  the  name  of  the  father 
of  our  great  dramatist,  coming  last,  after  those  of  Henry 
Bydyll,  Lewis  ap  William,  and  William  Mynske.  The 
most  remarkable  circumstance  connected  with  it  is  the 
number  of  persons  who  were  amerced  in  sums  varying  from 
6s.  8ti  to  2rf.  "The  bailiff  that  now  is,"  was  fined  3s.  4d. 
for  "  breaking  the  assize,"  he  being  a  "  common  baker :"  three 
other  bakers  were  severally  compelled  to  pay  similar 
amounts  on  the  same  occasion,  and  for  the  same  offence.8 
In  September  following  the  date  of  this  report  John  Shake- 

iingular  their  appurtenances  in  Snytterfeild.  and  a  yarde  and  a  halfe 
of  ayrable  lande  thereunto  belonging,  &c.,  being  in  the  towne  and 
fyldes  of  Snytterfeild  aflbrsaid  :  all  which  now  are  in  the  octupation 
of  Richarde  Shakspere,  John  Henley,  and  John  Hargreve."  Of  course 
this  property  formed  part  of  the  jointure  of  Agnes  Arden,  mentioned 
in  the  will  of  her  husband. 

1  John  Shakespeare,  the  shoemaker,  seems  not  to  have  belonged  to 
the  corporation,  at  all  events,  till  many  years  afterwards,  so  that  the 
confusion  to  which  we  have  referred  does  not  extend  itself  to  any  of 
the  records  of  that  body.  After  John  Shakespeare,  the  father  of  our 
po«t,  had  been  bailiff,  he  is  always  called  Mr.  or  Magistrr  John 
Shakespeare ;  while  the  shoemaker,  who  married  Margery  Roberts. 
and  was  the  father  of  Philip,  Ursula,  and  Humphrey,  is  invariably 
ityled  only  John  Shakespeare.  There  is  no  trace  of  any  relationship 
between  the  two. 

a  The  affeerors  seem  to  have  displayed  unusual  vigilance,  and  cc  n- 
nderablo  severity  :  \Villiam  Trout,  Christopher  Smythe,  Maud  Har- 
?age,  and  John  Jamson  were  all  fined  3.«.  4d,  "for  xeLing  ale.  and 
having  and  keeping  gaining  contrary  to  the  order  of  the  Court  :" 
lleven  other  inhabitants  were  amerced  in  smaller  sums  on  the  tame 
round  Robert  Perrot  was  compelled  to  pay  6s.  8d.  "  foi  makinj 
»ad  ifllling  unwholesome  ale." 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  Iv 

speare  was  elected  one  of  the  chamberlains  of  the  borough. 
a  very  responsible  post,  in  which  he  remained  two  years. 

His  second  child,  Margaret,  or  Margareta,  (as  the  name 
stands  in  the  register,)  was  baptized  on  the  2d  Dec.,  lo'l-J, 
while  he  continued  chamberlain.  She  was  buried  on  30th 
April,  1563'. 

The  greatest  event,  perhaps,  in  the  literary  history  of  tha 
world  occurred  a  year  afterwards — William  Shakespeare 
was  born.  The  day  of  his  birth  cannot  be  fixed  with  abso- 
lute certainty,  but  he  was  baptized  on  the  26th  April,  1564, 
and  the  memorandum  iu  the  register  is  precisely  in  the 
following  form : — 

"1564.  April  26.  Gullelmus filius  Johannes  Shatspere." 
So  that  whoever  kept  the  book  (in  all  probability  the  clerk) 
either  committed  a  common  clerical  error,  or  was  no  great 
proficient  in  the  rules  of  grammar.  It  seems  most  likely 
that  our  great  dramatist  had  been  brought  into  the  world 
only  three  days  before  lie  was  baptized  ,  and  it  was  then 
the  custom  to  carry  infants  very  early  to  the  font.  A  house 
is  still  pointed  out  by  tradition,  in  Henley-street,  as  that  in 
which  William  Shakespeare  first  saw  the  light,  and  we 
have  already  shown  that  his  father  was  the  owner  of  two 
copy -hold  dwellings  in  Henley -street  and  Greeuhill-street, 
and  we  may,  perhaps,  conclude  that  the  birth  took  place  in 
the  former.  John  and  Mary  Shakespeave  having  previously 
lest  two  girls,  Joan  and  Margaret,  William  was  at  this  time 
the  onlv  child  of  his  parents. 

A  malignant  fever,  denominated  the  plague,  broke  out  at 
Stratford  while  William  Shakespeare  was  iu  extreme  in- 
fancy :  he  was  not  two  months  old  when  it  made  its  appear 
ance,  having  been  brought  from  London,  where,  according 
to  Stow,  (Annales,  p.  1112,  edit.  1615,)  it  raged  with  great 
violence  throughout  the  year  1563,  and  did  not  so  far  abate 
that  term  could  be  kept,  as  usual  at  Westminster,  i:util 
Easter,  1 564.  It  was  most  fatal  at  Stratford  between  June 
and  December,  1564,  and  Malone  calculated  that  it  carried 
off  in  that  interval  more  than  a  seventh  part  of  the  whole 

>  The  registrations  of  her  birth  and  death  are  both  in  Latin  : — 
"1562.   JJecember'Z.  Margareta  jUin  .lukannis  Shakspere." 
"1563.  JiprilW.  Margareta  filiaJohannis  S/iakspere." 
»  The   inscription  on  his  monument  supports  the  opinion  that  ha 
was  lorn  on  the  23d  April :  -without  the  contractions  it  runs  thus  : — 
"  Obiit.lmio  Domini  1616. 

JEtatis  53.  die  -J3  Jprilis." 

and  this,  in  truth,  is  the  only  piece  of  evidence  upon  the  point.  Ma- 
lone  referred  to  the  statement  of  the  Rev.  J.  Greene,  as  an  authority  ; 
but  he  was  master  of  the  free-school  at  Stratford  nearly  two  centnnei 
tfter  the  death  of  Shakespeare,  and,  in  all  Trobabili»y,  spoke  only  frori 
the  tenor  of  the  inscription  in  the  church. 


Ivi  THE    LIFE    OF 

population,  consisting  of  about  1400  inhabitants.  Tt  doe« 
i...t  appear  that  it  reached  any  member  of  tLe  immediate 
family  of  John  Shakespeare,  and  it  is  not  at,  all  unlikely  that 
he  avoided  its  ravages  by  quitting  Stratford  for  Snittorfield 
where  he  owned  some  property  in  right  of  his  wife,  and 
where  perhaps  his  father  was  still  living  as  tenant  to  Alex- 
ander Webbe,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  in  1560,  had  obtained 
n  lease  for  forty  years  from  his  relative,  the  widow  Agnes 
Arden,  of  the  messuage  in  which  Richard  Shakespeare  re- 
aided. 

In  order  to  show  that  John  Shakespeare  was  at  this  date 
in  moderate,  and  probably  comfortable,  though  not  in  afflu- 
ent circumstances,  Malone  adduced  a  piece  of  evidence  de- 
rived from  the  records  of  Stratford  :  it  consists  of  the 
names  of  persons  in  the  borough  who,  on  this  calamitous 
visitation  of  the  plague,  contributed  various  sums  to  the  re- 
lief of  the  poor.  The  meeting  at  which  it  was  determined 
to  collect  subscriptions  with  this  object  was  convened  in  the 
open  air,  "  At  a  hall  holdeu  in  our  garden,"  <tc. ;  no  doubt 
on  account  of  the  infection.  The  donations  varied  between 
7.i.  4d.  (given  by  only  one  individual  of  the  name  of  Rich- 
ard Symeus)  and  Qd. ;  and  the  sum  against  the  name  of  John 
Shakespeare  is  1*.  It  is  to  be  recollected  that  at  this  date 
he  was  not  an  alderman ;  and  of  twenty-four  pei^sous 
enumerated  five  others  gave  the  same  amount,  while  six 
gave  less  :  the  bailiff  contributed  3*.  4d.,  and  the  head  alder- 
man 2*.  8</.,  while  ten  more  put  down  either  2s.  6</.  or  2*. 
each,  and  a  person  of  the  name  of  Botte  4s.  These  sub- 
scriptions were  raised  on  the  80th  August,  but  on  the  6th 
September  a  farther  sum  seems  to  have  been  required,  and 
the  bailiff  and  six  aldermen  gave  Is.  each,  Adrian  Quyney 
1*.  6</.,  and  John  Shakespeare  and  four  others  6rf.  each:  only 
one  member  of  the  corporation.  Robert  Bratt,  whose  name 
will  afterwards  occur,  coutributed  4d.  We  are,  we  think, 
warranted  in  concluding,  that  in  1564  John  Shakespeare 
was  an  industrious  and  thriving  tradesman. 

He  continued  steadily  to  advance  in  rank  and  importance 
in  the  corporation,  and  was  elected  one  of  the  fourteen  alder- 
men of  Stratford  on  the  4th  July,  1565  ;  but  he  did  not 
take  the  usual  oath  until  the  12th  September  following. 
The  bailiff  of  the  year  was  Richard  Hill,  a  woollen-draper ; 
and  the  father  of  our  poet  became  the  occupnnt  of  that 
Ittuatioo  rather  more  than  three  years  aftenvim\  wheu 
his  sou  William  was  about  four  years  and  a  half  oid.  John 
Bbtkwpeare  was  bailiff  of  Stratford-upon-Avon  from  Mi- 
ehjuilinus  1568,  to  Michaelmas  1569,  the  autumn  being  th« 

'  Shak^are,  by  Roswell,  vol.  ii.  p.  83. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  v 

customary  period  of  election.  In  the  meantime  his  wife 
bad  brought  him  another  son,  who  was  christened  Gilbert, 
on  13th  October,  15661. 

Joan  seems  to  have  been  a  favourite  name  with  the  Shake- 
epeares :  and  Joan  Shakespeare  is  mentioned  in  the  records 
of  the  guild  of  Knowle,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII. ;  and 
John  and  Mary  Shakespeare  christened  their  first  child, 
which  died  an  infant,  Joan.  A  third  daughter  was  bom  to 
them  while  John  Shakespeare  was  bailiff,  and  her  they  also 
baptized  Joan,  on  15th  April,  15692.  The  partiality  for 
the  name  of  Joan,  in  this  instance,  upon  which  some  bi- 
ographers have  remarked  without  being  able  to  explain  it, 
may  be  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  a  maternal  aunt, 
married  to  Edward  Lambert,  was  called  Joan ;  and  it  is 
veiy  possible  that  she  stood  god-mother  upon  both  occa- 
sions. Joan  Lambert  was  one  of  the  daughters  of  Robert 
Arden,  regarding  whom,  until  recently,  we  have  had  no 
information. 

We  have  now  traced  John  Shakespeare  through  various 
offices  in  the  borough  of  Stratford,  until  he  reached  the 
highest  distinction  which  it  was  in  the  power  of  his  fellow- 
townsmen  to  bestow  :  he  was  bailiff,  and  ex-officio  a  magis- 
trate. 

T  vo  new  documents  have  recently  come  to  light  which 
belong  to  this  period,  and  which  show,  beyond  all  dispute, 
that  although  John  Shakespeare  had  risen  to  a  station  so 
respectable  as  that  of  bailiff  of  Stratford,  with  his  name  in 
the  commission  of  the  peace,  he  was  not  able  to  write. 
Malonc  referred  to  the  records  of  the  borough  to  establish 
that  in  1565,  when  John  Wheler  was  called  upon  by  nine- 
teen aldermen  and  burgesses  to  undertake  the  duties  of 
bailiff,  John  Shakespeare  was  among  twelve  other  marks- 
men, including  George  Whately,  the  then  bailiff,  and  Roger 
Sadler,  the  "head  alderman."  There  was,  therefore,  nothing 
remarkable  in  this  inability  to  write ;  and  if  there  were 
any  doubt  upon  this  point,  (it  being  a  little  ambiguous 
whether  the  signum  referred  to  the  name  of  Thomas 
Dyxun,  or  of  John  Shakespeare,)  it  can  never  be  enter- 
tained hereafter,  because  the  Shakespeare  Society  has  been 
put  in  possession  of  two  warrants,  granted  by  John  Shake- 
Bpeare  as  bailiff  of  Stratford,  the  one  dated  the  3rd,  and 
the  other  the  9th  December,  11  Elizabeth,  for  the  caption 

1  Thn  register    of   the    parish-church    contains    tha    subsequent 
entry  :— 

"1566.  October  13.  Qilbertus  Jilius  Johannis  Stiakspere." 

2  Although  John   Shakespeare  -was  at  this  time  bailir!',  no  Mr.  ot 
JWnrriftcr  is  prefixed  to  his  name  in  the  register,  a  distinction  which 
appears  only  to  have  been  made  after  he  had  served  that  office. 

"  1569,  April  15.     Jone  the  daughter  of  John  Shakspere." 
VOL.    I.  5 


Iviii  THE    LIFE    OF 

of  Johu  Ball  and  Kichard  Walcar,  on  account  of  debt* 
severally  due  from  them,  to  both  of  which  his  mark  only  ia 
Appended.  The  same  fact  is  established  by  two  other 
documents,  to  which  we  shall  have  occasion  hereafter  1/> 
advert,  belonging  to  a  period  ten  years  subsequent  to  that 
of  which  we  are  now  speaking. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

The  grant  of  arms  to  John  Shakespeare  considered.  The  con- 
firmation and  exemplification  of  arms.  Sir  W.  Dethick's 
conduct,  liigon  meadow  in  John  Shakespeare's  tenancy. 
Birth  and  death  of  his  daughter,  Anne.  Kichard  Shake- 
speare born  in  1574,  and  named,  perhaps,  after  his  grand- 
father. John  Shakespeare's  purchase  of  two  freehold 
houses  in  Stratford.  Decline  in  his  pecuniary  affairs,  and 
new  evidence  upon  the  point.  Indenture  of  sale  of  John 
Shakespeare's  and  his  wife's  share  of  property  at  Snitter- 
field,  to  Robert  Webbe.  Birth  of  Edmund  Shakespeare  in 
1580. 

ALTHOUGH  John  Shakespeare  could  not  write  his  name, 
it  has  generally  been  stated,  and  believed,  that  while  he 
filled  the  office  of  bailiff  he  obtained  a  grant  of  arms  from 
Clarencieux  Cooke,  who  was  in  office  from  1666  to  1592. 
We  have  considerable  doubt  of  this  fact,  partly  arising  out 
of  the  circumstance,  that  although  Cooke's  original  book,  in 
which  he  entered  the  amis  he  granted,  has  been  preserved 
in  the  Heralds'  College,  we  find  in  it  no  note  of  any  such 
concession  to  John  Shakespeare.  It  is  true  that  this  book 
might  not  contain  memoranda  of  all  the  arms  Cooke  had 
granted,  but  it  is  a  circumstance  deserving  notice,  that  in 
this  case  such  an  entry  is  wanting.  A  confirmation  of  these 
arms  was  made  in  1696,  but  we  cannot  help  thinking,  with 
Maloue,  that  this  instrument  was  obtained  at  the  personal 
instance  of  the  poet,  who  had  then  actually  purchased,  or 
was  on  the  eve  of  purchasing,  New  Place"(or  "  the  great 
house,"  as  it  was  also  called)  in  Stratford.  The  confirma- 
tion states,  that  the  heralds  had  been  "  by  credible  report 
informed,"  that  "the  parents  and  late  autecessors"1  of  John 

1  Malone  gcve  both  the  confirmation  and  exemplification  of  arms, 
but  with  some  variations,  which  are  perhaps  pardonable  on  account 
of  the  statu  of  the  originals  in  the  Heralds' College  :  thus  he  printed 
'  parent  and  late  antecessore,"  instead  of  "parents  and  late  ante- 
e*«or*,"  in  the  confirmation  ;  and  •>  whose  parent  and  great  grand- 
fcther,  and  late  antecessor."  instead  of  "  whose  parent,  great  grand- 
tather,  and  late  antecessor."  in  the  exemplification.  We  are  bound 
k»re  to  expresi  our  acknowledgments  to  Sir  Charles  Ycung,  th- 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  ij 

Shakespeare  "  were  for  their  valiant  and  faithful  services 
advauced  and  rewarded  of  the  most  prudent  prince,  Henry 
the  Seventh ;"  but,  as  has  been  before  stated,  on  examining 
the  rolls  of  that  reign,  we  can  discover  no  trace  of  ad- 
vancement or  reward  to  any  person  of  the  name  of  Shake- 
speare. It  is  true  that  the  Ardens,  or  Arderns,  were  so 
"  advanced  and  rewarded  j"1  and  these,  though  not  strictly 
the  "  parents,"  were  certainly  the  "  autecessors"  of  William 
Shakespeare.  In  1599,  an  exemplification  of  arms  was 
procured,  and  in  this  document  it  is  asserted  that  the  "  great 
grandfather"  of  John  Shakespeare  had  been  "  advanced 
and  rewarded  with  lands  and  tenements"  by  Henry  VIL 
Our  poet's  "  great  grandfather,"  by  the  mother's  side,  was 
so  "  advanced  and  rewarded  f  and  we  know  that  he  did 
"  faithful  and  approved  service"  to  that  "  most  prudent 
prince." 

Another  point,  though  one  of  less  importance,  is,  that 
it  is  stated,  in  a  note  at  the  foot  of  the  confirmation  of  1596, 
that  John  Shakespeare  "  showeth"  a  patent  "  under  Clarence 
Gooke's  hand:"  the.  word  seems  originally  to  have  been 
sent,  over  which  "  showeth"  was  written :  if  the  original 
patent,  uuder  Cooke's  hand,  had  been  sent  to  the  Heralds' 
Collie  iu  1596,  there  could  have  been  little  question  about 
it ;  but  the  substituted  word  "  showeth"  is  more  indefinite, 
and  may  mean  only,  that  the  party  applying  for  the  con- 
firmation alleged  that  Cooke  had  granted  such  a  coat  of 
arms*.  That  William  Shakespeare  could  not  have  pro- 
cured a  grant  of  arms  for  himself  in  1596  is  highly  proba- 
ble, from  the  fact  that  he  was  an  actor,  (a  profession  then 
much  looked  down  upon)  and  not  of  a  rank  in  life  to  en- 
title him  to  it:  he,  therefore,  may  have  very  fairly  and 
properly  put  forward  his  father's  name  and  claims  as 
having  been  bailiff  of  Stratford,  and  a  "justice  of  peace," 
and  coupled  that  fact  with  the  deserts  and  rewards  of  the 
Ardeus  under  Henry  V IL,  one  of  whom  was  his  maternal 

present  Garter  King  at  Arms,  for  the  trouble  he  took  in  minutely 
collating  Malone's  copies  with  the  documents  themselves.  Other 
errors  he  pointed  out  do  not  require  particular  notice,  as  they  apply 
to  parts  ot  the  instruments  not  necessary  for  our  argument. 

'  Robert  Ardern  had  two  offices  conferred  upon  him  by  Henry  VII., 
in  thelUth  and  17th  years  of  his  reign;  and  he  is  spoken  of  in  the 


keep 

lordship  ot  Uodnor.  and  keeper  ot  the  par 

of  lanls  in  •&  Henry  VII.  ;  viz.  the  large  manor  of  Yoxsall,  in  the 


Keeper  of  the   park  at  Aldercar,  and  the  other  that  of  bailiff  of    he 
lordship  of  Cod  nor.  and  keeper  of  the  j      ' 


ark  there.     He  obtained  a  giant 
rge  manor  of  Yoxsall,  in  the 

county  of  Stafford,  on  condition  of  a  payment  of  a  rent  to  the  king  of 
4&.  per  annum. 

1  The  word  "  showeth"  is  thus  employed  in  nearly  every  petition, 
and  it  is  only  there  equivalent  to  statet/i,  or  settet/i  fortfi.  The  as- 
sertion that  such  a  grant  had  been  alleged  was,  probably,  that  of  the 


heralds 


b.  THE    LIFE    OF 

•  treat  grandfather,"  and  all  of  whom,  by  reason  of  thi 
marriage  of  his  father  with  an  Arden,  were  his  "ante- 
cessora." 

We  only  doubt  whether  John  Shakespeare  obtained  any 
grant  of  arms,  as  has  been  supposed,  iu  1568-9;  and  it  la 
to  be  observed  that  the  documents  relating  to  this  question, 
still  preserved  in  the  Heralds'  College,  are  full  of  correc- 
tions and  interlineations,  particularly  as  regards  the  an- 
cestors of  John  Shakespeare :  we  are  persuaded  that  when 
William  Shakespeare  applied  to  the  office  in  1596,  Garter 
of  that  day,  or  his  assistants,  made  a  confusion  between  the 
"  great  grandfather"  and  the  "  antecessors"  of  Johu,  and  of 
William  Shakespeare.  What  is  stated,  both  in  the  confir- 
mation and  exemplification,  as  to  parentage  and  descent,  is 
true  as  regards  William  Shakespeare,  but  erroneous  as  re- 
gards John  Shakespeare1. 

It  appears  that  Sir  William  Dethick,  garter-king-at- 
arms  in  1596  and  1599,  was  subsequently  called  to  account 
for  having  granted  coats  to  pei-sons  whose  station  in  society 
and  circumstances  gave  them  no  right  to  the  distinction. 
The  case  of  John  Shakespeare  was  one  of  those  complained 
of  in  this  respect ;  and  had  Clarencieux  Cooke  really  put 
his  name  in  1568-9  to  any  such  patent  as,  it  was  asserted, 
had  been  exhibited  to  Sir  William  Dethick,  a  copy  of  it,  or 
some  record  of  it,  wrould  probably  have  remaiiied  in  the 
office  of  arms  in  1596  ;  and  the  production  of  that  alone, 
proving  that  he  had  merely  acted  on  the  precedent  of  Cla- 
rencieux Cooke  would,  to  a  considerable  extent  at  least, 

1  The  confirmation  and  the  exemplification  differ  slightly  as  to 
the  mode  in  which  the  arras  are  set  out :  in  the  former  it  is  thus  : 
"  1  have  therefore  assigned,  graunted,  and  by  these  have  confirmed, 
this  shield  or  cote  of  arms,  viz.  gould.  on  a  bend  sable  and  a  speare 
of  the  first,  the  point  steeled,  proper  ;  and  for  his  crest  or  cognizance 
a  faulcon.  his  wings  displayed,  argent,  standing  on  a  wrethe  of  his 
coullors,  supporting  a  speare  gould  steele  as  aforesaid,  sett  uppon  a 
helmett  with  mantelles  and  tasselles  as  hath  been  accustomed."  In 
the  exemplification  the  arms  are  stated  as  follows  :  "  In  a  field  of 
puld  upon  a  bend  sables  a  speare  of  the  first,  the  poynt  upward, 
bedded  argent ;  and  for  his  crest  or  cognisance  a  falcon  with  hii 
•wyngs  displayed,  standing  on  a  wrethe  of  his  coullors,  supporting  a 
tpeare  armed  hedded  or  steeled  sylver,  fyxed  upon  a  helmet,  -with 
mantelles  an!  tasselles."  In  the  confirmation,  as  well  as  in  the  ex- 
emphficatior.  it  is  stated  that  the  arms  are  ''depicted  in  the  mar- 
pin;"  and  in  the  latter  a  reference  is  made  to  another  escutcheon,  in 
which  the  arms  of  Shakespeare  are  impaled  with  "  the  auncyent 
•xms  of  Arden  of  Wellingcote.  signifying  thereby  that  it  maye  and 
•hall  be  lawful!  for  the  said  John  Shakespeare,  gent,  to  beare  and 
use  the  same  shield  of  arms,  single,  or  impaled  as  aforesaid,  during 
a'atio^"*.11  ly**."  Th»  motto,  as  given  it  the  head  of  the  confir- 

NOX   SAN-Z   DROICT. 

°f  WelUngcote"  the  heralds  *1"»*W  have  laid  Arden  at 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  x 

have  justified  Sir  William  Dethick.  No  copy,  nor  record 
was  however  so  produced,  but  merely  a  memorandum  at 
the  foot  of  the  confirmation  of  1596,  that  an  original  grant 
had  been  sent  or  shown,  which  memorandum  may  have 
been  added  when  Sir  William  Dethick's  conduct  was  called 
in  question  ;  and  certain  other  statements  are  made  at  the 
bottom  of  the  same  document,  wliich  would  be  material  to 
Garter's  vindication,  but  which  are  not  borne  out  by  facts 
One  of  these  statements  is,  that  John  Shakespeare,  in 
1596,  was  worth  500/.,  an  error  certainly  as  regarded  him, 
but  a  truth  probably  as  regarded  his  son. 

It  is  really  a  matter  of  little  moment  whether  John 
Shakespeare  did  or  did  not  obtain  a  grant  of  arms  while  he 
was  bailiff  of  Stratford ;  but  we  are  strongly  inclined  to 
think  that  he  did  not,  and  that  the  assertion  that  he  did,  and 
that  he  was  worth  500/.  in  1596,  originated  with  Sir  W. 
Dethick,  when  he  subsequently  wanted  to  make  out  his  own 
vindication  from  the  charge  of  having  conceded  arms  to 
various  persons  without  due  caution  and  inquiry. 

IT  1570,  when  William  Shakespeare  was  in  his  seventh 
year,  his  father  was  in  possession  of  a  field  called  Ingon, 
or  Ington,  meadow,  within  two  miles  of  Stratford,  wliich 
he  held  under  William  Clopton.  We  cannot  tell  in  what 
year  he  first  rented  it,  because  the  instrument  proving  his 
tenancy  is  dated  llth  June,  1581,  and  only  states  the  fact, 
that  on  llth  Dec.,  1570,  it  was  in  his  occupation.  The  an- 
nual payment  for  it  was  8^.,  a  considerable  sum,  certainly, 
for  that  time ;  but  if  there  had  been  "  a  good  dwelling- 
house  and  orchard"  upon  the  field,  as  Malone  conjectured, 
that  circumstance  w.ould,  in  all  probability,  have  been  men- 
tioned1. We  may  presume  that  John  Shakespeare  em- 
ployed it  for  agricultural  purposes,  but  upon  this  point  we 
are  without  information.  That  he  lived  in  Stratford  at  the 
time  we  infer  from  the  fact,  that  on  the  28th  September, 
1571,  a  second  daughter,  named  Anne,  was  baptized  at  the 
parish-church.  He  had  thus  four  children  living,  two  boys 
and  two  girls,  William,  Gilbert,  Joan,  and  Anne,  but  the 
last  died  at  an  early  age,  having  been  buried  on  4th  April, 
15794.  It  will  be  remarked  that,  on  the  baptism  of  hif 
daughter  Anne,  he  was,  for  the  first  time,  called  "  Magister 

i  Malone  places  reliance  on  the  words  of  the  close  roll,  (from  which 
the  information  is  derived)  "  with  the  appurtenances ;"  but  surely 
"a  good  dwelling-house  and  orchard"  would  have  been  specified, 
and  not  included  in  such  general  terms :  they  are  not  mere  "ap- 
purtenances." 

3  The  following  are  copies  of  the  registration  of  the  baptism  and 
burial  of  Anne  Shakespeare  :— 

"1571  Scpteb'  -28.  Jlmtn  fiiia  Maestri  Shakspere." 

"  1579  April  4.  Anne  daughter  of  Mr.  John  Shakspere  " 


Ixil  THE    LIFE    OP 

Shakespeare"  in  the  Latin  entry  in  the  Register,  a  distinc- 
tion he  seems  to  have  acquired  by  having  served  the  office 
of  bailiff  two  years  before.  The  same  obsemitiou  will 
apply  to  the  registration  of  his  fifth  child,  Richard,  who 
was  baptised  on  llth  March,  1573-4,  as  the  son  of  "Mr. 
John  Shakespeare1."  Richard  Shakespeare  may  have  been 
named  after  his  grandfather  of  Snitterfield,  who  perhaps 
was  sponsor  on  the  occasion2. 

The  increase  of  John  Shakespeare's  family  seems,  for 
Kime  time,  to  have  been  accompanied  by  an  increase  of  his 
means,  and  in  1574  he  gave  Edmund  and  Emma  Hall  40/. 
for  two  freehold  houses,  with  gardens  and  orchards,  in 
Henley-street3.  It  will  not  be  forgotten  that  he  was  al- 
ready the  owner  of  a  copyhold  tenement  in  the  same  street, 
which  he  had  bought  of  Edward  West,  in  1556,  before  hia 
marriage  with  Mary  Arden.  To  one  of  the  two  last-pur- 
chased dwellings  John  Shakespeare  is  supposed  to  have  re- 
moved his  family  ;  but,  for  aught  we  know,  he  had  lived 
from  the  time  of  his  marriage,  and  continued  to  live  iu 
1574,  iu  the  house  in  Henley-street,  which  had  been  alien- 
ated to  him  eighteen  years  before.  It  does  not  appear  that 
he  had  ever  parted  with  West's  house,  so  that  in  1574  he 
was  the  owner  of  three  houses  in  Henley-street.  Forty 
pounds,  even  allowing  for  great  difference  in  value  of 
money,  seems  a  small  sum  for  the  two  freehold  houses, 
with  gardens  and  orchards,  sold  to  him  by  Edmund  and 
Emma  Hall. 

It  is,  we  apprehend,  indisputable  that  soon  after  this 
date  the  tide  of  John  Shakespeare's  affairs  began  to  turn, 
and  that  he  experienced  disappointments  and  losses  which 
seriously  affected  his  pecuniary  circumstances.  Malone 
was  iu  possession  of  several  important  facts  upon  this  sub- 
ject, and  recently  a  strong  piece  of  confirmatory  testimony 
has  been  procured.  We  wUl  first  advert  to  that  which  was 
iu  the  hands  of  Malone,  applicable  to  the  beginning  of 
1578.  At  a  borough  hall  on  the  29th  Jan.  in  that  y«-ar,  it 
was  ordered  that  every  alderman  hi  Stratford  should  pay 
fi*.  8rf.,  and  every  burgess  3*.  4<L  towards  u  the  furniture  of 
three  pikemen,  two  billmeu,  and  one  archer."  Now,  al- 
though John  Shakespeare  was  not  only  an  alderman,  but 
had  been  chosen  "  head  alderman"  in  1571,  he  was  allowed 


The  baptismal  register  runs  thus  :— 
"1573  March  II.  Richard  sonne  to  M 


i«  uiipusmai  register  runs  thus  : — 

"1573  March  II.  Richard  sonne  to  Mr.  John  Shakspeer." 
»  Malone  speculated  (Shakspcare.  by  Boswell,  vol.  ii.  p.  IOC.)  that 
Richard  Hill,  an  alderman  of  Stratford,  had  stood  godfather  to  thin 
hi  Id,  but  he  was  not  aware  of  the  existence  of  any  such  person  at 
Richard  Shakespeare,  of  Snitterfield,  who,  there  U  good  ground  to 
bf  Ueve.  was  father  to  John  Shakespeare. 
»  "  VJalone'i  Shakspeare,  by  Boswell,"  vol.  ii.  p.  93 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  Ixlh 

to  contribute  only  3s.  4<£,  as  if  he  had  been  merely  a  b'or- 
gess :  Humphrey  Plymley,  another  alderman,  paid  5«, 
while  Juhn  Walker,  Thomas  Brogden,  aud  Anthony  Turner 
contributed  2s.  6d.  each,  Wilh'am  Brace  2s.,  and  Robert 
Bnitt  "  nothing  in  this  place."  It  is  possible  that  Bratt 
had  been  called  upon  to  furnish  a  contribution  in  some 
other  place,  or  perhaps  the  words  are  to  be  taken  to  mean, 
that  he  was  excused  altogether ;  aud  it  is  to  be  remarked 
that  in  the  contribution  to  the  poor  in  Sept  1564,  Bratt 
was  the  only  individual  who  gave  no  more  than  fourpence. 
Li  November,  1578,  when  it  was  required  that  every  alder- 
man should  "  pay  weekly  to  the  relief  of  the  poor  4rf," 
John  Shakespeare  aud  Robert  Bratt  were  excepted :  they 
were  "  not  to  be  tajted  to  pay  any  thing,"  while  two  others 
(one  of  them  Alderman  Plymley)  were  rated  at  3d.  a  week. 
In  March.  1578-9,  when  another  call  was  made  upon  the 
town  for  the  purpose  of  purchasing  corslets,  calivers,  <tc, 
the  name  of  John  Shakespeare  is  found,  at  the  end  of  the 
account,  in  a  list  of  persons  whose  "  sums  were  unpaid  and 
unaccounted  for."  Another  fact  tends  strongly  to  the  con- 
clusion that  iti  1578  John  Shakespeare  was  distressed  for 
money :  he  owed  a  baker  of  the  name  of  Roger  Sadler  5/, 
for  which  Edmund  Lambert,  and  a  person  of  the  name  of 
Coruishe,  had  become  security :  Sadler  died,  and  in  his  will, 
dated  14th  November,  1578,  he  included  the  following 
among  the  debts  due  to  him : — "  Item  of  Edmund  Lambert 
aud  Cornish**,  for  the  debt  of  Mr.  John  Shacksper,  5/." 

Malone  conjectured  that  E'dmund  Lambert  was  some  re- 
lation to  Mary  Shakespeare,  aud  there  can  be  little  doubt 
of  it,  as  an  Edward  Lambert  had  married  her  sister  Joan 
Arden.  To  Edmund  Lambert  John  Shakespeare,  in  1578, 
mortgaged  his  wife's  estate  hi  Ashtou  Cautlowe,  called 
Asbyes,  for  40^.,  an  additional  circumstance  to  prove  that 
he  was  in  want  of  money ;  and  so  severe  the  pressure  of 
his  necessities  about  this  "date  seems  to  have  been,  that  in 
1579  he  parted  with  his  wife's  interest  iu  two  tenements  in 
Suitterfield  to  Robert  Webbe  for  the  small  sum  of  41.  This 
is  a  striking  confirmation  of  John  Shakespeare's  embarrass- 
ment?, with  which  Malooe  was  not  acquainted  ;  but  the  orig- 
inal deed,  with  the  bond  for  the  fulfilment  of  covenants, 
(both  bearing  date  15th  Oct.  1579)  subscribed  with  the  dis- 
tinct marks  of  John  and  Mary  Shakespeare,  and  sealed  with 
their  respective  seals,  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Shakespeare 
Society.  His  houses  hi  Stratford  descended  to  his  sou,  but 
they  may  have  been  mortgaged  at  this  period,  and  it  is  in- 
disputable that  John  Shakespeare  divested  himself,  in  1578 
aud  1579,  of  the  landed  property  his  wife  had  brought  him, 
being  in  the  end  d>';ven  to  the  extremity  of  raising  th« 


1X1V  THE   LIFE    DF 

trifling  sum  of  4 '.  by  the  sale  of  her  share  of  two  m » 
suages  in  Suitterfield1. 

It  hits  been  supposed  that  he  might  not  at  this  tim« 
reside  in  Stratford-upon-Avon,  and  that  for  this  reason,  he 
only  contributed  3s.  4rf.  for  pikemen,  <fcc.,  and  nothing  to  the 
poor  of  the  town,  in  1578.  This  notion  is  refuted  by  the 
fact,  that  in  the  deed  for  the  sale  of  his  wife's  property  in 
Snitterfield  to  Webbe,  in  1579,  he  is  called  "John  Sback- 
spere  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,"  and  in  the  bond  for  the  per- 
formance of  covenants,  "Johannem  Shackspere  de  Stratford- 
upon-Avon,  in  cwnitat.  Warwici."  Had  he  been  resident 
at  Ingon,  or  at  Snitterfield,  he  would  hardly  have  been  de- 
scribed as  of  Stratford-upon-Avon.  Another  point  re- 
quiring notice  hi  connexion  with  these  two  newly-discovered 
documents  is,  that  in  both  John  Shakespeare  is  termed 
"yeoman,"  and  not  (//over:  perhaps  in  1579,  although  he 
continued  to  occupy  a  house  hi  Stratford,  he  had  relin- 
quished his  original  trade,  and  having  embarked  in  agricul- 
tural pursuits,  to  which  he  had  not  been  educated,  had  been 
unsuccessful  This  may  appear  not  an  unnatural  mode  of 
accounting  for  some  of  his  difficulties.  In  the  midst  ol 
them,  in  the  spring  of  1580,  auother  son,  named  Edmund, 
(perhaps  after  Edmund  Lambert,  the  mortgagee  of  As- 
byes)  was  bom,  and  christened  at  the  parish  church". 

1  The  property  is  thus  described  in  the  indenture  between  John 
Shakespeare  and  his  wife,  and  Robert  Webbe.  For  and  in  conside- 
ration of  the  sum  of  41.  in  hand  paid,  they  u  give,  graunte,  bar- 
gayne.  and  sell  unto  the  said  Robert  Webbe,  his  heires  and  assignee 
for  ever,  all  that  theire  moitye,  parte,  and  partes,  be  it  more  or  lesse, 
of  and  in  two  messuages  or  tenementes,  with  thappurtenuances,  sett, 
lyinge  and  beynge  in  Snitterfield  aforesaid,  in  the  said  county  of 
Warwicke."  The  deed  terminates  thus  : 

"  In  witnesse  whereof  the  parties  above  said  to  these  present  inden- 
tures interchangeablie  have  put  theire  handes  and  seales,  the  day 
and  yeare  fyrst  above  wrytten. 

"  The  marke  +  of  John  Shackspere.     The  marke  M  of  Maryt 
Shackspere. 
M  Sealed  and  delivered  in  the  presens  of 

Nycholas  Knoolles,  Vicar  of  Anston, 

Wyllyam  Maydes,  and  Anthony  Os- 

taston,  with  other  moe.'1 

The  seal  affixed  by  John  Shakespeare  has  his  initials  I.  S.  upon  it, 
while  that  appended  to  the  mark  of  his  wife  represents  a  rudely-en 
paved  horse.  The  mark  of  .Mary  Shakespeare  seems  to  have  beei 
intended  tor  an  uncouth  imitation  of  the  letter  M.  With  referenc* 
to  the  word  "  moiety,"  used  throughout  the  indenture,  it  is  to  be  re- 
membered that  at  its  date  the  term  did  not,  as  no  v,  imply  half,  bn! 
Ul/-Ji)?rt'  or  share'  Shakespeare  repeatedly  so  uses  it. 

*  The  register  contains  the  following  :— 

"1580.    May  3.    Edmund  sonne  to  .Mr.  John  Shakspere." 


WILLIAM    SHAKESVEARE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Education  of  William  Shakespeare :  probably  at  t.ne  free- 
school  of  Stratford.  At  what  time,  and  under  what  cir- 
cumstances, he  left  school.  Possibly  an  assistant  in  the 
schooJ,  and  afterwards  in  an  aHorncy's  office.  His  hand- 
writing. His  marriage  with  Annu  Hathaway.  The  prelimi- 
nary bond  given  by'Fulk  Sandells  and  John  Richardson. 
Birth  of  Susanna,  the  first  child  of  William  Shakespeare 
and  his  wife  Anne,  in  1583.  Shakespeare's  opinion  on  the 
marriage  of  persons  of  disproportionate  age.  His  domestic 
circumstances.  Anne  Iluthaway's  family. 

AT  the  period  of  the  sale  of  then-  Snitterfield  property  by 
his  father  and  mother,  William  Shakespeare  was  iu  liis"  six 
teeuth  year,  and  iu  what  way  he  had  been  educated  is  mere 
matter  of  conjecture.  It  is  highly  probable  that  he  was  at 
the  free-school  of  Stratford,  founded  by  Thomas  Jolyffe  in 
the  reign  of  Edward  IV.,  and  subsequently  chartered  by 
Edward  VI.;  but  we  are  destitute  of  all  evidence  beyond 
Rowe's  assertion.  Of  course,  we  know  nothing  of  the  time 
when  he  might  have  been  first  sent  there ;  but  if  so  sent 
between  1570  and  1578,  Walter  Roche,  Thomas  Hunt,  and 
Thomas  Jenkins,  were  successively  masters,  and  from  them 
he  must  have  derived  the  rudiments  of  his  Latin  and  Greek. 
That  his  father  and  mother  .could  give  him  no  instruction 
of  the  kind  is  quite  certain  from  the  proof  we  have  adduced, 
that  neither  of  them  could  write ;  but  this  very  deficiency 
might  render  them  more  desirous  that  their  eldest  son,  at 
least,  if  not  their  children  in  general,  should  receive  the 
best  education  circumstances  would  allow.  The  free  gram- 
mar-school of  Stratford  afforded  an  opportunity  of  which, 
it  is  not  unlikely,  the  parents  of  William  Shakespeare 
availed  themselves. 

As  we  are  ignorant  of  the  time  when  he  went  to  school, 
we  are  also  in  the  dark  as  to  the  period  when  he  left  it 
Rowe,  indeed,  has  told  us  that  the  poverty  of  John  Shake- 
speare, and  the  necessity  of  employing  his  son  profitably 
at  home,  induced  him,  at  an  early  age,  to  withdraw  him 
trom  the  place  of  instruction.1  Such  may  have  been  the 
•case ;  but,  iu  considering  the  question,  we  must  not  leave 
out  of  view  the  fact,  that  the  education  of  the  son  of  a  mem 
her  of  the  corporation  would  cost  nothing ;  so  that,  if  the 
boy  were  removed  from  school  at  the  period  of  his  father's 

1  "  The  narrowness  of  his  father's  circumstances,  and  the  want  of 
his  assistance  at  home  forced  his  father  to  withdraw  him  from 
thence,  and  unhappily  prevented  his  farther  proficiency.''—  Rowe'i 
Life. 


Jxvi  TUB    LIFE    OF 

embarrassments,  the  expense  of  continuing  his  studies  there 
could  not  have  entered  into  the  calculation:  he  must  have 
beeu  taken  away,  as  Rowe  states,  in  order  to  aid  his  father 
in  the  maintenance  of  his  family,  consisting,  after  the  death 
of  his  daughter  Anue  in  1679,  and  the  birth  of  his  son  Ed- 
mund in  1580,  of  his  wife  and  five  children.  However,  we 
are  without  the  power  of  confirming  or  contradicting  Howe's 
statement 

Aubrey  has  asserted  positively,  in  his  MSS.  in  the  Ash- 
molean  Museum,  that  "  in  his  younger  years  Shakespeare 
had  been  a  schoolmaster  in  the  country ;"  and  the  truth  may 
be,  though  we  are  not  aware  that  the  speculation  has  ever 
been  hazarded,  that  being  a  young  man  of  abilities,  and 
rapid  iu  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  he  had  been  em- 
ployed bv  Jenkins  (the  master  of  the  school  from  1577  to 
1580,  if  not  for  a  longer  period)  to  aid  him  in  the  instruc- 
tion of  the  junior  boys.  Such  a  course  is  certainly  not  very 
unusual,  and  it  may  serve  to  account  for  this  part  of  Au- 
brey's narrative1. 

We  decidedly  concur  with  Malone  in  thinking,  that  after 
Shakespeare  quitted  the  free-school,  he  was  employed  in 
the  office  of  an  attorney.  Proofs  of  something  like  a  legal 
education  are  to  be  found  in  many  of  his  plays ;  and  it  may 
be  safely  asserted,  that  they  do  not  occur  anything  like  so 
frequently  in  the  dramatic  productions  of  his  contempo- 
raries. We  doubt  if,  in  the  whole  works  of  Marlowe, 
Greene,  Peele,  Jonson.  Heywood,  Chapman,  Marston,  Dek- 
ker,  and  Webster,  so  many  law  terms  and  allusions  are  to 
be  found,  as  in  only  six  or  eight  plays  by  Shakespeare ;  and, 
moreover,  they  are  applied  with  much  technical  exactness 
and  propriety.  Maloue  has  accumulated  some  of  these, 
and  it  would  be  easy  to  multiply  them2.  We  may  presume 

'  Aubrey  cites  "Mr.  Beeston"  as  his  authority,  and  as  persons  of 
that  name  were  connected  with  theatres  before  the  death  of  Shake- 
•peare.  and  long  afterwards,  we  ought  to  treat  the  assertion  with  the 
more  respect.  Simon  Forman,  according  to  his  Diary,  was  employed 
in  this  way  in  the  free-school  where  he  was  educated,  and  was  paid 
by  the  parent*  of  the  boys  for  his  assistance.  The  same  might  be 
the  case  with  Shakespeare. 

1  A  passage  from  the  epistle  of  Thomas  Nash  before  Greene's 
^Menaphon."  has  been  held  by  some  to  apply  to  Shakespeare,  to  his 
'Hamlet,''  and  to  his  early  occupation  in  an  attorney's  office.  The 
be»t  answer  to  this  supposition  is  an  attention  to  dates  :  "  Mcnaphon  " 
was  not  printed  for  the  first  time,  as  has  been  supposed,  in  15s9,  but 
In  188) ;  in  all  probability  before  Shakespeare  had  written  any  play, 
much  less  "  Hamlet.1'  The  "  Hamlet "  to  which  Nash  alludes  must 
h*ve  been  0  e  old  drama,  which  was  in  existence  long  before  Shake- 
ipeare  took  up  the  subject.  The  terms  Nash  employs  are  these  ;  and 
/t  u  to  be  observed,  that  by  noverint  he  means  an  attorney  or  attor- 
•*  clerk,  employed  to  draw  up  bonds,  &c..  commencing  Jfonrrint 
«*i»er»i,  fco.  "  It  is  a  common  practice  now-a-dayes,  amongst  a  sort 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  XVU 

thai,  if  BO  eriployed.  he  was  paid  something  for  his  ser- 
vices ;  for,  if  he  were  to  earn  nothing,  his  father  could  have 
had  no  other  motive  for  taking  him  from  school  Suppos- 
ing him  to  have  ceased  to  receive  instruction  from  Jenkins 
in  1579,  when  John  Shakespeare's  distresses  -were  appa- 
rently most  severe,  we  may  easily  imagine  that  he  was.  for 
the  next  year  or  two,  in  the  office  of  one  of  the  seven  at- 
torn.-ys  in  Stratford,  whose  names  Malone  introduces.  Thai 
he  wrote  a  good  hand  we  are  perfectly  sure,  not  only  from 
the  extant  specimens  of  his  signature,  when  we  may  sup- 
pose him  to  have  been  in  health,  but  from  the  ridicule  which, 
in  "  Hamlet,"  (act  v.  sc.  2)  he  throws  upon  such  as  affected 
to  write  illegibly : 

"  I  once  did  hold  it,  as  onr  statists  do, 
A  baseness  to  write  fnir." 

In  truth,  many  of  his  dramatic  contemporaries  wrote  ex- 
eellfiiUy:  Ben  Jonson's  penmanship  was  beautiful;  and 
Peele,  Chapman,  Dekker,  and  Marston,  (to  say  nothing  of 
some  inferior  authors)  must  have  given  printers  and  copy- 
ists little  trouble.1 

of  shifting  companions,  that  run  through  every  art  and  thrive  by 
none,  to  leave  the  trade  of  nouerint,  whereto  they  were  borne,  and 
busie  themselves  with  the  indevours  of  art.  that  could  scarcely  Lat- 
inize their  neck  verse,  if  they  should  have  neede  :  yet  English  Seneca, 
read  by  candle-light,  yields  many  good  sentences,  as  Bloutt  is  a  beg- 
per,  and  so  forth ;  and  if  you  intreate  him  faire  in  a  irostie  morning, 
he  will  affoord  you  whole  Hamlets.  I  should  say  handfuls  of  tragical 
speeches.*'  Hence  we  may  possibly  infer  that  the  author  of  the  old 
'•Hamlet,1'  preceding  Shakespeare's  tragedy,  had  been  an  attorney's 
clerk.  In  loS7.  Shakespeare  was  only  in  his  twenty-third  year,  and 
could  hardly  be  said  by  that  time  to  have  "  run  through  every  art, 
and  thriven  by  none."  Seneca  had  been  translated,  and  published 
collectively,  six  years  before  Nash  wrote.  He  may  have  intended  to 
speak  generally,  and  without  more  individual  allusion  than  a  mod- 
ern poet,  when,  in  the  very  same  spirit,  he  wrote  the  couplet, 
"  Some  clerk  foredoom'd  his  father's  soul  to  cross, 
Who  pens  a  stanza  when  he  should  ingross." 

!  It  is  certain  also  that  Shakespeare  wrote  -with  great  facility,  and 
that  his  compositions  required  little  correction.  This  fact  we  hive 
upon  the  indubitable  assertion  of  Ben  Jonson,  who  thus  speaks  in 
t:s  "  Discoveries,''  written  in  old  age,  when,  as  he  tells  us.  his  mem- 
ory began  to  fail,  and  printed  with  the  date  of  1(541  :—  ' 

"  I  remember  the  players  have  often  mentioned  it  as  an  honour 
to  Shakespeare,  that  in  his  writing  (whatsoever  he  penned)  he 
never  blotted  out  line.  My  answer  hath  been.  Would  he  had  blotted 
a  thousand !  which  they  thought  a  malevolent  speech.  I  had  not 
told  posterity  this,  but  for  their  ignorance,  who  chuse  that  circum- 
stance to  commend  their  friend  by,  wherein  he  most  faulted  :  and  to 
justify  mine  own  candour,  fcr  I  loved  the  man.  and  do  honour  hi« 
memory  (on  this  side  idolatry)  as  much  as  any.  He  was  indeed 
honest,  and  of  an  open  and  free  nature;  had  an  excellent  fancy, 
brave  ni  iions.  and  gentle  expressions,  wherein  he  flowed  with  thai 
facility,  that  sometimes  it  was  necessary  he  slrould  be  stoppeJ 


Lxviii  THE  LIFE  OF 

Excepting  by  mere  tradition,  we  hear  not  a  syllable  re- 
garding William  Shakespeare  from  the  time  of  his  birth 
until  he  had  considerably  passed  his  eighteenth  year,  and 
then  we  suddenly  come  to  one  of  the  most  important  events 
of  his  life,  established  upon  irrefragable  testimony :  we  al- 
lude t<>  his  marriage  with  Anne  Hathaway,  which  could  not 
have  taken  place  before  the  28th  Nov.  1582,  because  on 
that  day  two  persons,  named  Fulk  Sandells  and  John  Rich- 
ardson entered  into  a  preliminary  bond  (which  we  subjoin 
in  a  note1)  in  the  penalty  of  40/.  to  be  forfeited  to  the  bishop 
of  the  diocese  of  Worcester,  if  it  were  thereafter  found  that 
there  existed  any  lawful  impediment  to  the  solemnization 

Sufflaminandus  erat,  as  Augustus  said  of  Ilaterius.     His  wit  was  in 
his  own  power  ;  would  the  use  of  it  had  bee 
Hence  he 


players  had  "  oftPn  mentioned,"  we  find  the  following  in 
of  Heminge  and  Condell,  "  To  the  great  variety  of  Reade 
the  folio  of  1623  : — "  His  rnind  and  hand  went  together,  ai 


proceeds  to  instance  a  pl,-*>s.ge  in  "Julius  Cffisar."  Ben 
Jonson  then  adds  in  conclusion  : — "Bat  he  redeemed  his  vices  with 
his  virtues  :  there  was  ever  more  in  Kim  to  be  praised,  than  to  be 
pardoned."  Consistently  with  what  Ben  Jonson  tells  us  above  tne 
i  had  "  oftPn  mentioned,"  we  find  the  following  in  the  address 

ders,"  before 
gether,  and  what  he 
thought  he  uttered  with  that  easiness,  that  we  have  scarce  received 
from  him  a  blot  in  his  papers." 
1  The  instrument,  divested  of  useless  formal  contractions,  runs 

"Noverint  universi  per  presentes,  nos  Fulconem  Sandells  de  Strat- 
ford in  comitatu  Warwici.  agricolarri,  et  Johannem  Richardson  ibi- 
dem agricolam,  teneri  et  firmiter  obligari  Ricardo  Cosin,  generoso,  et 
Roberto  Warmstry,  notario  publico,  in  qnadraginta  libris  bonne  et  le- 
galis  monetoo  AngliaE  solvendis  eisdem  Ricardo  et  Roberto,  heredibus, 
executoribus,  vel  assignatis  suis,  ad  quam  quidem  solutionem  bene 
et  hdeliter  faciendam  obligamus  nos,  et  utrumque  nostrum,  per  se 
pro  toto  et  in  soliilo,  heredes,  executores,  et  administratores  nostros 
flrmiter  per  presentes.  sigillis  nostris  sigillatos.  Datum  28  die  No- 
yembris,  anno  Regni  Dominae  nostrae  Elizabeths,  Dei  gratia  Anglia. 
Francis,  et  Hiberniae  ReginiB,  Fidei  Defensoris.  &c.  2.5°. 

"The  condition  of  this  obligation  ys  suche,  that  if  hereafter  there 
shall  not  appere  any  lawfull  lett  or  impediment,  by  reason  of  any 
precontract,  consanguinitie,  amnitie,  or  by  any  other  lawfull 
meanes  whatsoever,  but  that  William  Shagspere  one  thone  partie, 
and  Anne  Hathwey,  of  Stratford  in  the  Dioces  of  "Worcester,  maiden, 
may  lawfully  solemnize  matrimony  together,  and  in  the  same  after- 
wards remaine  and  continew  like  man  and  wilTe.  accordinn-  unto  the 
lawes  in  that  behalf  provided  :  and  moreover,  if  there  be  not  at  this 
present  time  any  action,  sute,  quarrel,  or  demaund.  moved  or  depend- 
Jg  before  any  judge,  ecclesiastical  or  temporal,  for  and  concerning 
any  suche  lawfull  lett  or  impediment :  and  moreover,  if  the  said 
VVUliam  Sbagspere  do  not  proceed  to  solemnization  of  marriadg  with 
the  said  Anne  Hathwey  without  the  consent  of  her  frinds  :  and  also 
if  the  said  William  do,  upon  his  owne  proper  costs  and  expenses  de- 
fend and  save  harrnles  the  Right  Reverend  Father  in  God,  Lord  John 
Bushop  of  Worcester,  and  his  offycers,  for  licencing  them  the  said 
lliara  and  Anne  to  be  maried  together  with  once  asking  of  the 
i  ol  matrimony  betwene  them,  and  for  all  other  causes  which 
may  ensue  by  reason  or  occasion  thereof,  that  then  the  said  obliga- 
tion to  b«  vovd  and  of  none  effect,  of  els  to  stand  and  abide  in  full* 
fcree  and  vertue." 

The  marks  ind  seals  of  Sandells  and  Richardson. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  x 

of  matrimony  between  William  Shakespeare  and  Anne 
Hathaway,  of  Stratford.  It  is  not  known  at  what  church  the 
ceremony  was  performed,  but  certainly  not  at  Stratford- 
upon-Avou,1  to  which  both  the  parties  belonged,  where  the 
bondsmen  resided,  and  where  it  might  be  expected  that  it 
would  have  been  registered.  The  object  of  the  bond  waa 
to  obtain  such  a  dispensation  from  the  bishop  of  Wore«'sttr 
as  would  authorize  a  clergyman  to  unite  the  bride  and 
groom  after  only  a  single  publication  of  the  banns ;  and  it  is 
not  to  be  concealed,  or  denied,  that  the  whole  proceeding 
seems  to  indicate  haste  and  secresy.  However,  it  ought 
not  to  escape  notice  that  the  seal  used  when  the  bond  was 
executed,  although  damaged,  has  upon  it  the  initials  R.  H, 
as  if  it  had  belonged  to  R.  Hathaway,  the  father  of  the  bride, 
and  had  been  used  on  the  occasion  with  his  consent.2 

Considering  all  the  circumstances,  there  might  be  good 
reasons  why  the  father  of  Anne  Hathaway  should  concur  in 
the  alliance,  independently  of  any  regard  to  the  worldly 
prospects  of  the  parties.  The  first  child  of  William  and 
Anne  Shakespeare  was  christened  Susanna  on  26th  May, 
1583s.  Anne  was  between  seven  and  eight  years  older 
than  her  young  husband,  and  several  passages  in  Shake- 
speare's plays  have  been  pointed  out  by  Malone,  and 
repeated  by  other  biographers,  which  seem  to  point  directly 
at  the  evils  resulting  from  unions  in  which  the  parties  were 
"  misgraffed  in  respect  of  years."  The  most  remarkable 
of  these  is  certainly  the  'well-known  speech  of  the  Duke  to 
Viola,  in  "  Twelfth  Night,"  (act  ii.  sc.  4)  where  he  says, 

"  Let  still  the  woman  take 
An  elder  than  herself:  so  wears  she  to  him ; 
So  sways  she  level  in  her  husband's  heart: 
For,  boy,  however  we  do  praise  ourselves, 
Our  fancies  are  more  giddy  and  unfirm, 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn, 
Than  women's  are." 

Afterwards  the  Duke  adds, 

l  Malone  conjectured  that  the  marriage  took  place  at  Weston,  or 
Billesley.  but  the  old  registers  there  having  been  lost  or  destroyed,  it 
is  impossible  to  ascertain  the  fact.  A  more  recent  search  in  the  reg- 
isters of  some  other  churches  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Stratford  haa 


not  been  attended   with  any  success.     Possibly,   the 

performed  in  the  vicinity  of  Worcester,  but  the  mere  tact  that  the 

Dond  was  there  executed  proves  nothing.     An  examination  of  the 


registers  at  Worcester  has  been  equally  fruitless. 

2  Rowe  tells  us.  (and   we  are  without  any  other  authority'l  that 
Hathaway  was  "said  to  have  been  a  substantial  yeoman.'1  and  h« 
was  most'likely  in  possession  of  a  seal,  such  as  John  Shakespeare  had 
used  in  1579. 

3  The  fact  is  registered  in  this  form  : — 

"  L5S3.     May  '2H.     Susanna  daughter  to  William  Shakspere." 


1XX  THE    LIFE    07 

"  Then  let  thy  love  be  youngrer  than  thyself, 
Or  thy  affection  cannot  hold  the  bent. ' 

Whether  these  lines  did  or  did  not  originate  in  the  »u- 
thor's  reflections  upon  his  own  marriage,  they  are  BO  appli- 
cable to  his  own  case,  that  it  seefris  impossible  he  should 
have  -written  them  without  recalling  the  circumstances  at- 
tending his  hasty  union,  and  the  disparity  of  years  between 
himself  and  his  wife.  Such,  we  kuow,  was  the  confirmed 
opinion  of  Coleridge,  expressed  on  two  distinct  occasions  in 
his  lectures,  and  such  we  think  will  be  the  conclusion  at 
which  most  readers  will  arrive : — "  I  cannot  hesitate  in  be- 
lieving," observed  Coleridge  in  1815,  "that  in  this  passage 
from  'Twelfth  Night,'  Shakespeare  meant  to  give  a  caution 
arising  out  of  his  own  experience  ;  and,  but  for  the  fact  of 
the  disproportion  in  point  of  years  between  himself  and  his 
wife,  I  doubt  much  whether  the  dialogue  between  Viola  and 
the  Duke  would  have  received  this  turn1."  It  is  incident  to 
our  nature  that  youths,  just  advancing  to  manhood,  should 
feel  with  peculiar  strength  the  attraction  of  women  whose 
charms  have  reached  the  full-blown  summer  of  beauty  ;  but 
we  cannot  think  that  it  was  so  necessary  a  consequence,  as 
some  have  supposed2,  that  Anne  Hathaway  should  have  pos- 
sessed peculiar  personal  advantages.  It  may  be  remarked, 
that  poets  have  often  appeared  comparatively  indifferent 
to  the  features  and  persons  of  their  mistresses,  since,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  strength  of  their  imaginative  faculty,  they 
have  been  able  to  supply  all  physical  deficiencies3.  Cole- 
ridge was  aware,  if  not  from  his  own  particular  case,  from 
recorded  examples,  that  the  beauty  of  the  objects  of  the 
affection  of  poets  was  sometimes  more  fanciful  than  real ; 
and  his  notion  was,  that  Anne  Hathaway  was  a  woman 
with  whom  the  boyish  Shakespeare  had  fallen  in  love,  per- 
haps from  proximity  of  residence  and  frequency  of  inter- 
course, and  that  she  had  not  any  peculiar  recommendations 
of  a  personal  description.  The  truth,  however,  is,  that  we 

1  We  derive  this  opinion  from  our  own  notes  of  what  fell  from 
Coleridge  upon  the  occasion  in  question.  The  lectures,  upon  which 
he  was  then  engaged,  were  delivered  in  a  room  belonging  to  the 
G.obe  tavern,  in  Fleet-street.  He  repeated  the  same  sentiment  in 
public  in  1>1*,  and  we  have  more  than  once  heard  it  from  him  in 
private  society. 

*  The  Kev.  Mr.  Dyce,  in  his  Life  of  Shakespeare,  prefixed  to  the 
Aldine  edition  of  his  1'oeins,  lamo.  1832.  p.  xi.     It  comprises  all  the 
main  points  of  the  biography  of  our  poet  then  known. 

•  VV  hen  the  Rev.  .Mr.  Dyce  observes  that  "it  is  unlikely  that  a  WO- 
LD devoid  of  personal  charms  should  have  won  the  youthful  affec- 
tions of  to  imaginative  a  being  as  Shakespeare."  he  forgets  that  the 
mere   fact  that  Shakespeare  was  an   "imaginative  being"  would 

r    'personal  charms"  in  his  wife  less  necessary  to  his  happi- 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  xxl 

have  no  evidence  either  way ;  and  when  Oldys  remarki 
upon  the  93rd  Bonnet,  that  it  "  seems  to  have  been  addressed 
by  Shakespeare  to  his  beautiful  wife,  on  some  suspicion  of 
her  infidelity1,"  it  is  clear  that  he  was  under  an  entire  mia 
take  as  to  the  individual :  the  lines, 

"So  shall  I  live  supposing  thon  art  true 
Like  a  deceived  husband;  so  love's  face 
May  still  seem  love  to  me,"  &c. 

were  most  certainly  not  applied  to  his  wife  ;  and  Oldys  could 
have  had  no  other  ground  for  asserting  that  Anne  Hatha- 
way was  •'  beautiful,"  than  general  supposition,  and  the  er- 
roneous belief  that  a  sonnet  like  that  from  which  we  have 
made  a  brief  quotation  had  Shakespeare's  wife  for  its  ob- 
ject 

The  present  may  not  be  an  improper  opportunity  for 
remarking  (if,  indeed,  the  remark  might  not  be  entirely 
spared,  and  the  reader  left  to  draw  his  own  inferences)  that 
the  b;il;iuce  of  such  imperfect  information  as  remains  to  us, 
leads  us  to  the  opinion  that  Shakespeare  was  not  a  very 
happy  married  man.  The  disparity  in  age  between  him- 
self and  his  wife  from  the  first  was  such,  that  she  could 
not  "  svray  level  in  her  husband's  heart ;"  and  this  difference, 
for  a  certain  time  at  least,  became  more  apparent  as  they 
advanced  in  years :  may  we  say  also,  that  the  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances attending  their  marriage,  and  the  birth  of  then* 
first  child,  would  not  tend,  even  in  the  most  grateful  and 
considerate  mind,  to  increase  that  respect  which  is  the  chief 
source  of  confidence  and  comfort  in  domestic  life.  To  this 
may  be  added  the  fact  (by  whatever  circumstances  it  may 
have  been  occasioned,  which  we  shall  consider  presently) 
that  Shakespeare  quitted  his  home  at  Stratford  a  veiy  few 
years  after  he  had  become  a  husband  and  a  father,  and  that 
although  he  revisited  his  native  town  frequently,  and  ulti- 
mately settled  there  with  his  family,  there  is  no  proof  that 
his  wife  ever  returned  with  him  to  London,  or  resided  with 
him  during  any  of  his  lengthened  sojourns  in  the  metropo- 
lis :  that  she  may  have  done  so  is  very  possible :  and  in 
1609  he  certainly  paid  a  weekly  poor-rate  to  an  amount 
that  may  indicate  that  he  occupied  a  house  in  Southwark 
capable  of  receiving  his  family  ,  but  we  are  here,  as  upon 

I  In  his  MS.  notes  to  Langbaine,  in  the  British  Museum,  as  quoted 
by  Steevens.  Ses  "Malone's  Shakspeare,  by  Boswell,"  vol.  xx. 
p.  306. 

3  "We  have  noticed  this  matter  more  at  length  hereafter,  with  re- 
ference to  the  question,  whether  Shakespeare,  in  1609  were  not  rated 
to  the  poor  ot  Southwark  in  respect  of  his  theatrical  property,  and 
not  foi  any  dwelling-house  which  he  occupied. 


Ixxii  THE  LIFE  OF 

many  other  points,  compelled  to  deplore  the  absence  of  dis- 
tinct testimony.  We  put  out  of  view  the  doubtful  and  am- 
biguous indications  to  be  gleaned  from  Shakespeare's  Son- 
nets, observing  merely,  that  they  contain  little  to  show  that 
he  was  of  a  domestic  turn,  or  that  he  found  any  great  en- 
joyment in  the  society  of  his  wife.  That  such  may  have 
been  the  fact  we  do  not.  pretend  to  deny,  and  we  willingly 
believe  that  nuuh  favourable  evidence  upon  the  point  has 
been  lost:  all  we  venture  to  advance  on  a  question  of  so 
much  difficulty  and  delicacy  is,  that  what  remains  to  us  is 
not,  as  far  as  it  goes,  perfectly  satisfactory. 

A  question  was  formerly  agitated,  which  the  marriage 
bond,  already  quoted,  tends  to  set  at  rest  Some  of  Shake- 
speare's biographers  have  contended  that  Anne  Hathaway 
came  from  Shottery,  within  a  mile  of  Stratford,  while  Ma- 
lone  argued  that  she  was  probably  from  Luddington,  about 
three  miles  from  the  borough.  There  is  no  doubt  that  a 
family  of  the  name  of  Hathaway  had  been  resident  at 
Shottery  from  the  year  1543,  and  continued  to  occupy  a 
house  there  long  after  the  death  of  Shakespeare1 ;  there  is 
also  j>  tradition  in  favour  of  a  particular  cottage  in  the  vil- 
lage, and,  on  the  whole,  we  may  perhaps  conclude  that 
Anne  Hathaway  was  of  that  family,  She  is,  however, 
described  in  the  bond  as  "  of  Stratford,"  and  we  may  take 
it  for  granted,  until  other  and  better  proof  is  offered,  that 
she  was  resident  at  the  time  in  the  borough,  although  she 
may  have  come  from  Shottery2.  Had  the  parties  seeking 
the  licence  wished  to  misdescribe  her,  it  might  have  an- 
swered their  purpose  better  to  have  stated  her  to  be  of  any 
other  place  rather  than  of  Stratford. 

»  Richard  Hathaway,  alias  Gardener,  of  Shottery,  had  a  daughter 
named  Johanna,  baptized  at  Stratford  church  on  9th  May.  156G  ;  but 
there  is  no  trace  of  the  baptism  of  Anne  Hathaway. 

*  From  an  extract  of  a  letter  from  Abraham  Sturley,  dated  24 
Jan.,  159w,  printed  in  "Male-no's  Shakspeare  by  Boswell,"  vol.  ii.  p. 
»>(),  it  appears  that  our  preat  dramatist  then  contemplated  the  pur- 
chase of  "  some  odd  yard-land  or  other  at  Shotterv."  This  intention 
p*rbap*  arose  out  of  the  connexion  of  his  wif.  with  the  village. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  IxXUl 


CHAPTER  V. 

Shakespeare's  twins,  Hamnet  and  Judith,  born  h,  1585.  His 
departure  from  Stratford.  The  question  of  deer-stealing 
from  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  considered.  Authorities  for  the 
story;  Rowe,  Betterton,  Fulman's  MSS.,  Oldys.  Ballad 
by  Shakespeare  against  Sir  Thomas  Lucy.  Proof,  in  op- 
position to  Malone,  that  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  had  deer :  his 
present  of  a  buck  to  Lord  Ellesmere.  Other  inducements 
to  Shakespeare  to  quit  Stratford.  Companies  of  players 
encouraged  by  the  Corporation.  Several  of  Shakespeare's 
fellow-actors  from  Stratford  and  Warwickshire.  The 
Princely  Pleasures  of  Kenilworth. 

IN  the  beginning  of  1585  Shakespeare's  vrife  produced  him 
twins — a  boy  and  a  girl — and  they  were  baptized  at  Strat- 
ford Church  on  the  2d  Feb.  in  that  year1.  Malone  sup- 
posed, and  the  supposition  is  very  likely  well  founded,  that 
Hamnet  Sadler  and  his  wife  Judith  stood  sponsors  for  the 
infants,  which  were  baptized  by  the  Christian  names  of  the 
godfather  and  godmother,  Hamnet2  and  Judith.  It  is  a  fact 
not  altogether  unimportant,  with  relation  to  the  terms  of  af- 
fection between  Shakespeare  and  his  wife  in  the  subsequent 
part  of  his  career,  that  she  brought  him  no  more  children, 
although  in  1585  she  was  only  thirty  years  old. 

That  Shakespeare  quitted  his  home  and  his  family  not 
long  afterwards  has  not  been  disputed,  but  no  ground  for 
this  step  has  ever  been  derived  from  domestic  disagree- 
ments. It  has  been  alleged  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave 
Stratford  on  account  of  a  scrape  in  which  he  had  involved 
himself  by  stealing,  or  assisting  in  stealing,  deer  from  the 
grounds  of  Charlcote,  the  property  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy, 
about  rive  miles  from  the  borough.  As  Rowe  is  the  oldest 
authority  in  print  for  this  story,  we  give  it  in  his  own 
words : — "  He  had,  by  a  misfortune  common  enough  to 
young  fellows,  fallen  into  ill  company ;  and  among  them 
some,  that  made  a  frequent  practice  of  deer-stealing,  en- 
gaged him  more  than  once  in  robbing  the  park  that  be- 
longed to  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  of  Charlecot,  near  Stratford. 
For  this  he  was  prosecuted  by  that  gentleman,  as  he 
thought,  somewhat  too  severely  ;  and,  in  order  to  revenge 

1  The  registration  is,  of  course,  dated  2  Feb. ,1584,  as  the  year  1585 
did  not  at  that  date  begin  until  after  25th  March  :  it  runs  thus  : — 

"  lo-4.  Feb.  2.  Hamnet  &.  Judith  sonne  &  daughter  to  Willia 
Shakspere." 

2  There  was  an  actor  called  Hamnet  (the  name  is  sometimes  spelt 
Hamlet,  see  "  Memoirs  of  Edward  Alleyn.''  p.  127)  in  one  of  the  Lou 
don  companies  at  a  subsequent  date.     It  is  not  at  all  impossible  that, 
like  not  a  few  players  of  that  day,  Ue  came  from  Warwickshire. 

VOL.   I.  6 


THE    LIFE    OY 

that  ill-usage,  he  made  a  ballad  upon  h.m.  And  though 
this,  probablv  the  first  essay  of  his  poetry,  be  lost,  yet  it  ia 
eaid  to  have 'been  so  very  bitter,  that  it  redoubled  the  pros- 
ecution against  him  to  that  degree,  that  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  his  business  and  family  in  Warwickshire  for  some 
time,  ai-d  shelter  him  self  in  London." 

We  have  said  that  Howe  is  the  oldest  printed  source  of 
this  anecdote,  his  "  Life  of  Shakespeare  "  having  been  pub- 
lished in  1709  ;  but  Malone  produced  a  manuscript  of  un- 
certain date,  anterior,  however,  to  the  publication  of  Rowe's 
"  Life,"  which  gives  the  incident  some  confirmation.  Had 
this  manuscript  authority  been  of  the  same,  or  even  of  more 
recent  date,  and  derived  from  an  independent  quarter,  un- 
connected with  Rowe  or  his  informant,  it  would  on  this  ac- 
count have  deserved  attention  ;  but  it  was  older  than  the 
publication  of  Rowe's  "  Life,"  because  the  Rev.  R.  Davies, 
who  added  it  to  the  papers  of  Fulman.  (now  in  the  library 
of  Corpus  Christi  College)  died  in  17071.  Rowe  (as  he  dis- 
tinctly admits)  obtained  not  a  few  of  his  matei-ials  from 
Bettei  ton,  the  actor,  who  died  the  year  after  Rowe's  "  Life  " 
came  out,  and  who,  it  has  been  repeatedly  asserted,  paid  a 
visit  to  Stratford  expressly  to  glean  such  particulars  aa 
could  be  obtained  regarding  Shakespeare.  In  what  year 
he  paid  that  visit  is  not  known,  but  Malone  was  of  opinion 
that  it  was  late  in  life  :  on  the  contrary,  we  think  that  it 
must  have  been  comparatively  early  in  Betterton's  career, 
when  he  would  naturally  be  more  enthusiastic  in  a  pursuit 
of  the  kind,  and  when  he  had  not  been  afflicted  by  that  dis- 
order from  which  he  suffered  so  severely  in  his  later  years, 
and  to  which,  in  fact,  he  owed  his  death.  Betterton  was 
bora  in  1635,  and  became  an  actor  before  1660  ;  and  we 
should  not  be  disposed  to  place  his  journey  to  Stratford  later 
than  1670  or  1675,  when  he  was  thirty-fire  or  forty  years 
old.  He  was  at  that  period  in  the  height  of  his  popularity, 
and  being  in  the  frequent  habit  of  playing  such  parts  aa 
Harnlet,  Lear,  and  Othello,  we  may  readily  believe  that  he 
would  be  anxious  to  collect  any  information  regarding  the 
author  of  those  tragedies  that  then  existed  in  his  native 
town.  We  therefore  apprehend,  that  Betterton  must  have 

1  The  terms  used  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Davies  are  these  : 

He  [Shakespeare]  was  much  given  to  all  unluckiness  in  stealing 
renison  and  rabbits,  particularly  from  Sir  Lucy,  -who  had  him  oft 
whipped  and  sometimes  imprisoned,  and  at  last  made  him  fly  his 
native  country,  to  his  great  advancement.  But  his  revenge  was  so 
great  that  he  is  his  Justice  Clodpate  ;  and  calU  him  a  great  man.  and 
that,  in  allusion  to  his  name,  bore  three  louses  rampant  fcr  his 
arms."  Fulman's  MSS.  vol.  xv.  Here  we  see  that  Davies  callo  Sii 
Thomas  Lucy  only  '-Sir  Lucy,"  as  if  he  did  not  know  his  Chrisva* 
•fjne,  and  he  was  \gnorant  that  such  a  character  as  Justice 
M  not  to  be  found  in  any  of  Shakespeare's  play*. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  xXV 

gone  to  Stratford  many  years  before  the  Rev.  Richard 
'Davk'S  made  his  additions  to  Fulman's  brief  account  of 
Shakespeare,  for  Fuhuau's  papers  did  not  devolve  into  hia 
hands  until  1688.  The  conclusion  at  which  we  arrive  is, 
that  Howe's  printed  account  is  in  truth  older,  as  far  as 
regards  its  origin  hi  Betterton's  inquiries,  than  the  manu- 
script authority1  produced  by  Maloue ;  and  certainly  the 
latter  does  not  come  much  recommended  to  us  on  any  other 
ground.  Davies  must  have  been  ignorant  both  of  persons 
and  plays ;  but  this  veiy  circumstance  may  possibly  be 
looked  upon  as  in  favour  of  the  originality  and  genuineness 
of  what  he  furnishes.  He  does  not  tell  us  from  whence, 
uor  from  whom,  he  procured  his  information,  but  it  reads 
as  if  it  had  been  obtained  from  some  source  independent  of 
Betterton,  and  perhaps  even  from  inquiries  on  the  spot. 
The  whole  was  obviously  exaggerated  and  distorted,  but 
whether  by  Davies,  or  by  the  person  from  whom  he  derived 
the  story,  we  must  remain  hi  doubt.  The  reverend  gentle 
man  died  three  years  before  Betterton,  and  both  may  cer- 
tainly have  been  indebted  for  the  information  to  the  same 
parties  ;  but  most  likely  Davies  simply  recorded  what  he 
had  heard. 

In  reflecting  upon  the  general  probability  or  improbabil 
ity  of  this  important  incident  in  Shakespeare's  life,  it  is  not 
to  be  forgotten,  as  Malone  remarks,  that  deer-stealing,  at 
the  period  referred  to,  was  by  no  means  an  uncommon 
offence ;  that  it  is  referred  to  by  several  authors,  and  pun- 
ished by  more  than  one  statute.  Neither  was  it  considered 
to  include  any  moral  stain,  but  was  often  committed  by 
young  men,  by  way  of  frolic,  for  the  purpose  of  furnishing 

i  We  may,  perhaps,  consider  the  authority  for  the  story  obtained 
by  Oldys  prior  in  point  of  date  to  any  other.  According  to  him,  a 
gentleman  of  the  name  of  Jones,  of  Turbich  in  Worcestershire,  dled 
in  17li:j,  at  the  age  of  ninety,  and  he  remembered  to  have  heard,  from 
several  old  people  of  Stratford,  the  story  of  Shakespeare's  robbing  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy's  park  :  and  they  added  that  the  ballad  of  which  llowa 
makes  mention,  had  been  affixed  on  the  park-gate,  as  an  additional 
exasperation  to  the  knight.  Oldys  preserved  a  stanza  of  this  satiri- 
cat  effusion,  which  he  had  received  from  a  person  of  the  name  of 
W  iikes,  a  relation  of  Mr.  Jones  :  it  runs  thus  : 

"A  parliament  member,  a  justice  of  peace, 
At  home  a  poor  scare-crowe,  at  London  an  asse  ; 
If  lowsie  is  Lucy,  as  some  volke  miscalle  it, 
Then  Lucy  is  lowsie,  whatever  befall  it : 
He  thinks  himself  great, 
Yet  an  asse  in  his  state 

We  allow  by  his  ears  but  with  asses  to  mate. 
If  Lucy  is  lowsie,  as  some  volke  miscall  it, 
Sing  lowsie  Lucy,  whatever  befall  it." 

What  is  called  a  "complete  copy  of  the  verses,"  contained  in  "  ,Ma- 
lone's  Shakspeare,  by  Boswell,"  vol.  ii.  p.  505,  is  evidently  not  gen- 


IXXVI  THE    LIFE    OF 

a  feast,  and  not  -with  any  view  to  sale  or  emolument  If 
Shakespeare  ever  ran  into  such  an  indiscretion,  (and  we 
uwu  that  we  cannot  entirely  discredit  the  story)  he  did  no 
more  tlian  many  of  his  contemporaries ;  and  one  of  the 
ablest,  most  learned,  and  bitterest  enemies  of  theatrical 
performances,  who  wrote  just  before  the  close  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  expressly  mentions  deer-stealing  as  a  venial 
crime  of  which  uni-uly  and  misguided  youth  was  sometimes 
guilty,  and  he  couples  it  merely  with  carousing  in  taverns 
and  robbing  orchards1. 

It  is  very  possible,  therefore,  that  the  main  offence  against 
Sir  Thomas  Lucy  was,  not  stealing  his  deer,  but  writing 
the  ballad,  and  sticking  it  on  his  gate ;  and  for  this  Shake- 
speare may  have  been  so  "  severely  prosecuted "  by  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy,  as  to  render  it  expedient  for  him  to  abandon 
Stratford  "  for  some  time."  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  died  in  1600, 

*  Dr.  John  Rainolds,  in  his  "Overthrow  of  Stage  Playes,"  4to, 
1599,  p.  *J.  Some  copies  of  the  work  (one  of  which  is  in  the  library 
of  Lord  Francis  Kgerton)  bear  date  in  1600,  and  purport  to  have  been 
printed  at  Middleburgh  :  they  are,  in  fact,  the  same  edition,  and  there 
is  little  doubt  that  they  were  printed  in  London,  although  no  name 
is  found  at  the  bottom  of  any  of  the  title-pages.  His  words  on  the 
point  to  which  we  are  now  referring,  are  these  : — "Time  of  recrea- 
tion is  necessary,  I  grant ;  and  think  as  necessary  for  scholars,  that 
are  scholars  indeed,  I  mean  good  students,  as  it  is  for  any  :  yet  in  my 
opinion  it  were  not  fit  for  them  to  play  at  stuol-ball  among  wenches, 
nor  at  mum-chance  or  maw  with  idle  loose  companions,  nor  at  trunks 
in  guild-halls,  nor  to  dance  about  may-poles,  nor  torine  in  ale-houses, 
nor  to  carouse  in  taverns,  nor  to  steal  deer,  nor  to  rob  orchards." 

This  work  was  published  at  the  time  when  the  building  of  a  new 
theatre,  called  the  Fortune,  belonging  to  Henslowe  and  Alleyn,  was 
exciiing  a  great  deal  of  general  attention,  and  particular  an'imosity 
on  the  part  of  the  Puritans.  To  precisely  the  same  import  as  the 
above  Quotation  we  might  produce  a  passage  from  Forman's  Diary, 
referred  to  by  Malone.  and  cited  by  Mr.  Halliwell,  in  a  note  to  ''The 
First  Part  of  the  Contention  between  the  Houses,  York  and  Lancas- 
ter," printed  for  the  Shakespeare  Society,  p.  106.  One  of  the  most 
curious  illustrations  of  this  point  is  derived  from  a  MS.  note  by  Philip, 
Karl  of  Pembroke  and  Montgomery,  in  a  copy  of  Ropers  Life  of  Sir 
Thomas  More,  edit.  1642,  sold  among  the  books  of  Horace  Walpole. 
Speaking  of  Aurelian  Townshend,  who,  he  says,  was  a  poor  poet  liv- 
ing in  Barbican,  near  the  Earl  of  Bridgewaters,  he  adds  that  he  had 
'  a  tine  fair  daughter,  mistress  to  the  Palgrave  first,  and  then  aftei- 
wards  to  the  noble  Count  of  Dorset,  a  Privy  Councillor,  and  a  Knigh-. 
ol  the  Uarter,  and  o  deer-Mealer."  &c.  It  was  to  W  iliam  Earl  o.1" 
Pembroke,  and  Philip  Earl  of  Montgomery,  that  ,ne  player-edil 
mrVd.ed'»,ated  the  ")lio  Shakespeare  of  10-23;  and  one  of  Earl 

lulips  Mb.  notes,  in  the  volume  from  which  we  have  already 
ated,  contains  tne  following  mention  of  seven  drlmatic  poets,  in- 
CiUding  bhakespeare  :— "  The  full  and  heightended  style  of  Master 
Chapman;  the  laboured  and  understanding  works  of  Mr.  Jhonson; 
Mr.  Beaumont,  Ml  Fletcher,  (brother  to  Nat  Fetcher,  Mrs.  White's 
lervant,  sons  to  Bishop  Fletcher  of  London,  and  great  tobacconist, 
»nd  married  to  my  Lady  Baker)-Mr.  Shakeepear,  Mr.  Deckar,  Mr! 

•ywuod  '  Horace  Walpole  registers  on  the  title-page  of  the 
n-lum*  that  the  notes  were  made  by  Philip.  Earl  of  Pembroke  and 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 

and  the  mention  of  deer-stealing,  and  of  the  "  dozon  white 
luces  "  by  Slender,  and  of  "  the  dozen  white  lowses  "  by  Sii 
Hugh  Lvans  in  the  opening  of  "  The  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor,"  seems  too  obvious  to  be  mistaken,  aud  leads  us 
to  the  conviction  that  the  comedy  was  written  bet'oiv  the 
demise  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  whose  indignation  Shakespeare 
had  incurred.  True  it  is",  that  the  coat  of  arms  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy  contained  only  "  three  luces  (pike-fishes)  ha- 
riant,  argent ;"  but  it  is  easy  to  imagine,  that  while  Shake- 
speare would  wish  the  ridicule  to  be  understood  and  felt  by 
the  knight  and  his  friends,  he  might  not  desire  that  it  should 
be  too  generally  intelligible,  aud  therefore  multiplied  the 
luces  to  "  a  dozen,"  instead  of  stating  the  true  number.  We 
believe  that  "  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  "  was  written 
before  1600,  among  other  reasons,  because  we  are  convinced 
that  Shakespeare  was  too  generous  in  his  nature  to  have 
carried  his  resentment  beyond  the  grave,  and  to  have  cast 
ridicule  upon  a  dead  adversary,  whatever  might  have  been 
his  sufferings  while  he  was  a  living  one. 

Malone  has  attacked  the  story  of  deer-stealing  on  the 
ground  that  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  never  had  any  park  at  Charl- 
cote  or  elsewhere,  but  it  admits  of  an  easy  aud  immediate 
answer ;  for,  although  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  had  no  park,  ho 
may  have  had  deer,  and  that  his  successor  had  deer,  though 
no  park,  can  be  proved,  we  think,  satisfactorily.  Malona 
has  remarked  that  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  never  seems  to  have 
sent  the  corporation  of  Stratford  a  buck,  a  not  unusual 
present  to  a  body  of  the  kind  from  persons  of  rank  and 
wealth  in  the  vicinity.  This  may  be  so,  and  the  fact  may 
be  accounted  for  on  several  grounds ;  but  that  the  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy,  who  succeeded  his  father  in  1600,  made  such 
gifts,  though  not  perhaps  to  the  corporation  of  Stratford, 
is  very  certain.  When  Lord  Keeper  Egerton  entertained 
Queen  Elizabeth  at  Harefield,  in  August  1602,  many  of  the 
nobility  and  gentry,  in  nearly  all  parts  of  the  kingdom, 
sent  him  an  abundance  of  presents  to  be  used  or  consumed 
in  the  entertainment,  and  on  that  occasion  Sir  Thomas  Lucy 
contributed  "  a  buck,"  for  which  a  reward  of  6s.  8d.  was 
given  to  the  bringer1.  This  single  circumstance  shows  that 

i  See  "The  Egerton  Papers,"  printed  by  the  Camden  Society,  4to. 
1S40.  pp.  350.  a.3o.  The  editor  of  that  volume  observes  :  "  Many  of 
these  [presents]  deserve  notice,  but  especially  one  of  the  items,  where 
It  is  stated  that  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  (against  whom  Shakespeare  is  said 
to  have  written  a  ballad)  sent  a  present  of  a 'buck.'  Malone  dis- 
credits the  whole  story  of  the  deer-stealing,  because  Sir  Thomas  Lucy 
had  no  park  at  Charlcote  :  '  I  conceive  (he  says)  it  will  very  readily 
be  granted  that  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  could  not  lose  that  of  which  he  was 
never  possessed.'  We  find,  however,  from  what  follows,  that  he  W8J 
aessessed  of  deer,  for  he  sent  a  present  of  a  buck  to  Lori  Ellesmere 


THE    LIFE    OF 

if  he  had  no  park,  he  had  deer,  and  it  is  most  likely  that  b« 
inherited  them  from  his  father.  Thus  we  may  pretty  safely 
conclude  that  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  who  resided  at  Cbarl- 
cote  when  Shakespeare  was  in  his  youth,  had  venison  to  be 
Btolen,  although  it  does  not  at  all  necessarily  follow  that 
Shakespeare  was  ever  concerned  in  stealing  it. 

The  question  whether  he  did  or  did  not  quit  Stratford 
for  the  metropolis  on  this  account,  is  one  of  much  importance 
in  the  poet's  history,  but  it  is  one  also  upon  which  we  shall, 
in  all  probability,  never  arrive  at  certainty.  Our  opinion  is 
that  the  traditions  related  by  Rowe,  and  mentioned  in  Ful- 
man's  and  in  Oldys'  MSS.  (which  do  not  seem  to  have  orig- 
inated in  the  same  source)  may  be  founded  upon  an  actual 
occurrence  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  very  possible  that 
that  alone  did  not  determine  Shakespeare's  line  of  conduct. 
His  residence  in  Stratford  may  have  been  rendered  incon- 
venient by  the  near  neighbourhood  of  such  a  hostile  and 
powerful  magistrate,  but  perhaps  he  would  neveitheless 
not  have  quitted  the  town,  had  not  other  circumstances  com- 
bined to  produce  such  a  decision.  What  those  circum- 
stances might  be  it  is  our  business  now  to  inquire. 

Aubrey,  who  was  a  very  curious  and  minute  investigator, 
although  undoubtedly  too  credulous,  says  nothing  about 
deer-stealing,  but  he  tells  us  that  Shakespeare  was  "  inclined 
naturally  to  poetry  and  acting,  and  to  this  inclination  he  at- 
tributes his  journey  to  London  at  an  early  age.  That  this 
youthful  propensity  existed  there  can  be  no  dispute,  and  it 
is  easy  to  trace  how  it  may  have  been  promoted  and 
strengthened.  The  corporation  of  Stratford  seem  to  have 
given  great  encouragement  to  companies  of  play  ere  arriving 
there.  We  know  from  various  authorities  that  when  itine- 
rant actors  came  to  any  considerable  town,  it  was  their  cus- 
tom to  wait  upon  the  mayor,  bailiff,  or  other  head  of  the 
corporation,  in  order  to  ask  permission  to  perform,  either 
in  the  town-hall,  if  that  could  be  granted  to  them,  or  else 
•where.  It  so  happens  that  the  earliest  record  of  the  re- 
presentation of  any  plays  in  Stratford-upon-Avon,  is  dated 
in  the  year  when  John  Shakespeare  was  bailiff :  the  precise 
season  is  not  stated,  but  it  was  in  1569,  when  "  the  Queen's 
Players  "  (meaning  probably,  at  this  date,  one  company  of 
her  "  Interlude  Players,"  retained  under  that  name  by  her 
father  and  grandfather)  received  9s.  out  of  the  corporate 

in  1002."  He  gave  "a  buck,"  because  he  had  bred  it  himself,  and 
Mcause  it  was  perhaps  well  known  that  he  kept  deer ;  and  he  would 
hardly  have  exposed  himself  to  ridicule  by  buying  a  buck  for  a  pre- 
»«nt,  nnder  the  ostentatious  pretence  that  it  was  of  his  own  rearing. 
Malone  thought  that  he  had  triumphantly  overthrown  the  deer-steal- 
tory,  but  his  refutation  amounts  to  little  or  nothing  Whether 
i.  u  nevertheless  true  is  quite  a  different  question. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  IxXJX 

tui  is;  -while  the  Earl  of  Worcester's  servants  in  the  snm« 
year  obfcu'aed  only  12J1.  In  1573,  just  before  the  grant  of 
the  royal  license  to  them,  the  Earl  of  Leicester's  Play- 
ers, of  whom  James  Burbage  was  the  leader,  received  6s. 
8<i  ;  and  in  the  next  year  the  companies  acting  under  the 
names  of  the  Earls  of  Warwick  and  Worcester  obtained  17s. 
and  5.s-.  Id.  respectively.  It  is  unnecessary  to  state  precisely 
the  sums  disbursed  at  various  times  by  the  bailiff,  alder- 
men, and  burgesses,  but  we  may  notice,  that  in  1577  the 
]"  layers  of  the  Earls  of  Leicester  and  Worcester  again  ex- 
hibited ;  and  in  1579  we  hear  of  a  company  in  Stratford 
patronized  by  one  of  the  female  nobility,  (a  very  unusual 
circumstance)  the  Countess  of  Essex2.  "  Lord  'Strange's 
men  "  (at  this  date  not  players,  but  tumblers3)  also  exhibited 
in  the  s;uue  year,  and  in  1580  the  Earl  of  Derby's  players 
were  duly  rewarded1.  The  same  encouragement  was  given 
to  the  companies  of  the  Earls  of  Worcester  and  Berkeley  in 
1581 ;  but  in  1 582  we  only  hear  of  the  Earl  of  Worcester's 
actors  having  been  in  the  town.  In  1583  the  earl  of  Berke- 
ley's players,  and  those  of  Lord  Chandois,  performed  in 
Stratford,  while,  in  the  next  year,  three  companies  appear 
to  have  visited  the  borough.  In  1586  "  the  players  "  (with- 
out mentioning  what  company)  exhibited ;  and  in  1587  no 
fewer  than  n'  ve  associations  were  rewarded :  viz.  the 
Queen's  FlayeiB5,  and  those  of  the  Earls  of  Essex,  Leices- 
ter, and  Stafford,  with  "  another  company,"  the  nobleman 
countenancing  them  not  being  named. 

It  is  to  be  remarked  that  several  of  the  players,  with 

1  "We  may  conclude  that  the  Earl  of  "Worcester's  players  did  not 
perform,  but  that  !&/.  was  given  them  as  some  compensation,  and  to 
aid  them  on  their  road  to  another  place. 

2  The  widow  of  Walter  Devereux,  whom  Leicester  very  soon  after- 
wards married.     It  is  to  be  observed,  that  as  early  as  14S2  the  Earl 
t>f  Essex  had  a  company  of  players  travelling  under  the  protection 
of  his  name,  and  that  on  the  S>th. January  Lord  Howard,  through  one 
of  his  stewards,  gave  them  a  reward.     This  Earl  of  Essex  was,  how- 
ever, of  a  different  family,  viz.   Henry  Bourchier,  who  was  created 
in  liSl,  and  who  died  in  14^3.     See  the  Household  Book  of  John 
Lord  Howard,  afterwards  Duke  of  Norfolk,   printed  in  1844  for  the 
lloxburghe  Club,  p.  149. 

3  In  the  account  of  the  cost  of  the  Revels  for  the  year  15~l-2.  we 
are  told  that  "  sundrey  feates  of  tumbling  and  activitie  were  shewed 
before  her  .Majestie  on  newe  yeares  night  by  the  Lord  Straunge  his  ser- 
vauntes."     See  Mr.  P.  Cunningham's  Extracts  from  the  Revels  ac- 
counts, p.  177. 

*  .Malone,  who  gleaned  these  particulars  from  the  accounts  of  thu 
Chamberlains  of  "Stratford,  mis-stated  this  date  1510,  but  we  have 
ascertained  it  to  be  1-fcU,  as  indeed  seems  evident. 

5  This  was  most  likely  one  of  the  companies  which  the  Queen  had 
directed  to  be  formed,  consisting  of  a  selection  of  the  best  actors  trom 
the  associations  of  several  of  the  nobility,  and  not  either  of  the  dig- 
tinct  bodies  of  a interlude  players'*  who  had  visited  Stratford  while 
ohn  Shakespeare  was  bailiff. 


1XXX  THE    LIFE    OF 

whom  Shakespeare  was  afterwards  connected,  appear  t» 
have  come  origiually  from  Stratford  or  its  neighbourhood 
A  family  of  the  name  of  Burbage  was  resident  iu  Stratford, 
and  one  member  of  it  attained  to  the  highest  dignity  in  the 
corporation1 :  in  the  Muster-book  of  the  county  of  Warwick, 
in  1569,  preserved  in  the  State-paper  office,  we  meet  in  va- 
rious places  with  the  name  of  Burbage,  Slye,  and  Heminge 
although  not  with  the  same  Christian  names  as  those  of  the 
actors  in  Shakespeare's  plays :  the  usual  combination  of 
Nicholas  Tooley  is,  however,  found  there ;  and  he  was  a 
well-known  member  of  the  company  to  which  Shakespeare 
was  attached2.  It  is  veiy  distinctly  ascertained  that  James 
Burbage,  the  father  of  the  celebrated  Richard  Burbage, 
(the  representative  of  many  of  the  heroes  in  the  works  of 
our  great  dramatist)  and  one  of  the  original  builders  of  the 
Blackfriars  theatre,  migrated  to  London  from  that  part  of 
the  kingdom,  and  the  name  of  Thomas  Greene,  who  was 
indisputably  from  Stratford,  will  be  familiar  to  all  who  are 
acquainted  with  the  detailed  history  of  our  stage  at  that 
period  Malone  supposed  that  Thomas  Greene  might  have 
introduced  Shakespeare  to  the  theatre,  and  at  an  early  date 
he  was  certainly  a  member  of  the  company  called  the  Lord 
Chamberlaiu's  servants :  how  long  he  continued  we  are 
without  information,  although  we  know  that  he  became,  and 
perhaps  not  long  after  1689,  an  actor  in  the  rival  associa- 
tion under  Alleyu,  and  that  he  was  one  of  Queen  Anne's 
Players  when,  on  the  accession  of  James  L,  she  took  a  com- 
pany under  her  patronage.  If  any  introduction  to  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  servants  had  been  necessary  for  Shakespeare 
at  an  early  date,  he  could  easily  have  procured  it  from 
several  other  quarters3. 

i  Malone  attributes  the  following  order,  made  by  the  corporation 
of  Stratford  many  years  after  the'date  to  which  we  are  now  advert- 
ing, to  the  growth  of  puritanism;  but  possibly  it  originated  in  othei 
motives,  and  may  even  have  been  connected  with  the  attraction  of 
young  men  from  their  homes  :— 

"17.  Dec.  46  Eliz  :  1(50:2.    At  this  Hall  yt  is  ordered,  that  there 

lhall  be  no  plays  or  interludes  played  in  the  Chamber,  the  Guildhall, 

nor  in  any  parte  of  the   howse  or  courte,  from  hensforward,  upon 

payne,  that  whoever  of  the  Bavlif,  Aldermen,  or  Burgesses  of  the 

le  shall  give  leave  cfr  license  thereunto,  shall  forfeyt  for  everie 

»  Nicholas  Tooley,  was  of  Burmington,  and  he  is  said  to  be  pos- 
•eaed  of  iM  ,  goods.  We  are  indebted  to  Mr.  Lemon  for  directing 
our  attention  to  this  document,  which  he  only  recently  discovered  in 
the  public  «;hives. 

3  j  h*8.1*811  conjectured,  but,  we  believe,  upon  no  evidence  be- 
yond the  following  entry  in  the  register  of  deaths  at  Stratford,  thai 
Greene  was  in  some  way  related  to  Shakespeare  :— 

"1539.  March  G.     Thomas  Green,  alias  Shakspere." 
Tki»  was  perhaps  the  father  of  Thomas  Greene,  the  actor,   jvho  was  a 
somedian  >f  great  reputation  and  popularity,  and  became  so  famou* 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  IxXXl 

The  freqaeat  performances  of  various  associations  of  ac- 
tors in  Stratford  and  elsewhere,  and  the  taste  for  theatricals 
thereby  produced,  may  have  had  the  effect  of  drawing  not 
a  few  young  mou  in  Warwickshire  from  their  homes,  to 
follow  "the  attractive  and  profitable  profession;  and  sm-h 
may  have  been  the  case  with  Shakespeare,  without  sup- 
posing that  domestic  differences,  arising  out  of  disparity  of 
age  or  any  other  cause,  influenced  his  determination,  or  that 
he  was  driven  away  by  the  terrors  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy. 

It  has  been  matter  of  speculation,  and  of  mere  specula- 
tion, for  nobody  has  pretended  to  bring  forward  a  particle 
of  proof  upon  the  question,  whether  Shakespeare  visited 
Keuilworth  Castle,  when  Queen  Elizabeth  was  entertained 
there  by  the  Earl  of  Leicester  in  1575,  and  whether  the 
pomp  and  pageantry  he  then  witnessed  did  not  give  a 
colour  to  his  mind,  and  a  direction  to  his  pursuits.  Con- 
sidering that  he  was  then  only  in  his  eleventh  year,  we  own, 
that  we  cannot  believe  he  found  his  way  into  that  gorgeous 
and  august  assembly.  Kenilworth  was  fourteen  miles  dis- 
tant :  John  Shakespeare,  although  he  had  been  bailifl;  and 
was  still  head-alderman  of  Stratford,  was  not  a  man  of 
sufficient  rank  and  importance  to  be  there  in  any  official 
capacity ;  and  he  probably  had  not  means  to  equip  him- 
self aud  his  sou  for  such  an  exhibition.  It  may  be  very 
well  as  a  matter  of  fancy  to  indulge  such  a  notion,  but.  a"s 
it  seems  to  us,  every  reasonable  probability  is  against  it1. 
That  Shakespeare  heard  of  the  extensive  preparations,  and 
of  the  magnificent  entertainment,  there  can  be  no  doubt : 
it  was  an  event  calculated  to  create  a  strong  sensation  in 


m  a  character  called  Bubble,  that  the  play  of  the  "  City  Gallant," 
(acted  by  the  Queen's  Players)  in  which  it  occurs,  -with  the  constantly 

the  Revels  of  1(511-12,  it  is 'called  first  "the  City  Gallant,"  and  after- 
wards Tu  gtioque  :  it  was  printed  in  1614,  under  the  double  title  of 
"  Greene's  Tu  Q.uoque,  or  the  City  Gallant,"  preceded  by  an  epistle 
from  T.  Heywood,  by  which  it  appears  that  Greene  was  then  dead. 
A  piece  of  verse,  called  "A  Poet's  Vision  and  a  Prince's  Glory.'1  l(iO:j, 
•*-as  written  by  a  Thomas  Greene,  but  it  may  be  doubted,  whether 
this  were  the  comedian.  The  Greenes  were  a  very  respectable 
family  at  Stratford,  and  one  of  them  was  a  solicitor  settled  in 
London. 

1  Upon  this  point  we  differ  from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Halpin  in  his  in- 
genious and  agreeable  "  Essay  upon  Oberon's  Vision,"  printed  by 
the  Shakespeare  Society.  Bishop  Percy,  in  his  "  Reliques,"  was  th« 
first  to  start  the  idea  that  Shakespeare  had  been  present  at  the  enter- 
tainment at  Kenilworth,  and  the  Rev  Mr.  Halpin  calls  it  a  ''plea 
sant  conceit,''  which  had  been  countenanced  by  .\Ialono  and  adopted 
by  Dr.  Drake  :  nevertheless,  he  afterwards  seriously  argues  the  mat 
'.er.  and  arrivas  at  the  conclusion  tliat  Shakespeare  was  present  in 
•ightof  his  gentry  on  bo*,h  sides  of  the  family.  This  appears  to  vt 

Drake,  who  supposed  Shakespeare  to  have  gone  to  Kenu  worth  '•  lindei 
1.9  wi  ng  "  of  Thomas  Greene. 


THE    LIFE    OP 

the  whole  of  that  part  of  the  country ;  and  if  the  cele- 
brated passage  in  "  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  "  (act  it 
BC.  1),  had  any  reference  to  it,  it  did  not  require  that  Shake- 
speare should  have  been  present  in  order  to  have  •written 
it,  especially  when,  if  necessary,  lie  had  Gascoyne's  "  Princely 
Pleasures  of  Keuilworth  "  and  Laneham's  "  Letter  "  to  a*- 
gist  his  memory1. 


CHAPTER  VL 

John  Shakespeare  removed  from  his  situation  as  alderman 
of  Stratford,  and  its  possible  connexion  with  William  Shake- 
speare's departure  for  London  in  the  latter  end  of  1586. 
William  Shakespeare  a  sharer  in  the  Blackfriars  Theatre  in 
1589.  Complaints  against  actors  :  two  companies  silenced 
for  bringing  Martin  Mar-prelate  on  the  stage.  Certificate 
of  the  sharers  in  the  Blaekfriars.  Shakespeare,  in  all  prob- 
ability, a  good  actor :  our  older  dramatists  often  players. 
Shakespeare's  earliest  compositions  for  the  stage.  His 
"Venus  and  Adonis"  and  "Lucrece"  probably  written 
before  he  came  to  London. 

IN  reference  to  the  period  -when  our  great  dramatist  aban- 
doned his  native  town  for  London,  -we  think  that  sufficient 
attention  has  not  been  paid  to  an  important  incident  in  the 
life  of  his  father.  John  Shakespeare  was  deprived  of  his 
gown  as  alderman  of  Stratford  in  the  autumn  of  1586 :  we  say 
that  he  was  deprived  of  his  gown,  not  because  any  resolu- 
tion precisely  warranting  those  terms  was  come  to  by  the 
rest  of  the  corporation,  but  because  it  is  quite  evident  that 
such  was  the  fact,  from  the  tenor  of  the  entry  in  the  records 
of  the  borough.  On  the  6th  Sept  1586,  the  following  me- 
morandum was  made  in  the  register  by  the  town  clerk": 

"At  this  hall  William  Smythe  and  Kichard  Courte  are 
chosen  to  be  aldermen,  in  the  place  of  John  Wheler,  and 
John  Shaxspere  ;  for  that  Mr.  Wheler  doth  desyer  to  be  put 

:  Gascoyne's"  Princely  Pleasures,"  &c.  was  printed  in  1576,  and 
L*neham's  "Letter"  from  Kenilworth  in  the  preceding  year.  Gas- 
eoyne  was  himself  a  performer  in  the  shows,  and.  according  to  Lane- 
ham,  represented  "  a  Savage  .Man."  who  made  a  speech  to  the  Queen 
M  she  came  from  hunting.  Robert  Laneham,  the  affected  but  clevei 
jrriter  of  the  "  Letter,"  was  most  likely  (as  is  suggested  in  thf 
Bndgewater  Catalogue,  4to,  1S37,  p.  l(j-2)  related  to  John  Laneham, 
the  player,  who  was  one  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester's  players.,  aud  ii 
named  in  the  royal  license  of  1574.  "  Robert  Laneham."  observes 
th«  compiler  of  that  Catalogue,  "  seems  to  have  been  quite  as  much 
*  C,°!S'-'!!an  Upn°n  pap"r-  **  John  Laneham  was  upon  the  stage." 

»  W  Uliam  Tyler  was  the  bailifl  of  the  year.  See  Malone's  Shafc 
•peare  by  Bosw«ll,  vol.  ii.  p.  164 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 

out  of  tha  companye,  and  Mr.  Shaxspcre  doth  not  come  to 
the  halles,  when  they  bo  warned,  nor  hath  not  tfone  of  a 
long  tyme." 

According  to  this  note,  it  was  Wheler's  wish  to  be  re- 
moved from  his  situation  of  aldermuu,  and  hud  such  also 
been  the  desire  of  John  Shakespeare,  we  should,  no  doubt, 
have  been  told  so :  therefore,  we  must  presume  that  ho 
was  not  a  consenting,  or  at  all  events  not  a  willing,  party 
to  this  proceeding ;  but  there  is  no  doubt,  as  Maloue  ascer- 
tained from  an  inspection  of  the  ancient  books  of  the  bo- 
rough, that  he  had  ceased  to  attend  the  halls,  when  they 
were  "  warned  "  or  summoned1,  from  the  year  1579  down- 
wards. This  date  of  1579  is  the  more  important,  although 
Malone  was  not  aware  of  the  fact,  because  it  was  the  same 
year  in  which  John  Shakespeare  was  so  distressed  for 
mouev,  that  he  disposed  of  his  wife's  small  property  in  Snit- 
tertield  for  4/. 

We  have  thus  additional  reasons  for  thinking,  that  the 
unprosperous  state  of  John  Shakespeare's  pecuniary  cir- 
cumstances had  induced  him  to  abstain  from  attending  the 
ordinary  meetings  of  the  corporation,  and  finally  led  to  his 
removal  from  the  office  of  alderman.  What  connexion  this 
last  event  may  have  had  with  William  Shakespeare's  de- 
termination to  quit  Stratford  cannot  be  kuown  from  any 
circumstances  that  have  since  come  to  light,  but  it  will  not 
fail  to  be  remarked,  that  in  point  of  date  the  events  seem 
to  have  been  coincident2. 

Malone  "  supposed  "  that  our  great  poet  left  Stratford 
"about  the  year  1586  or  1587s,"  but  it  seems  to  us  more 
likely  that  the  event  happened  in  the  former,  than  in  the 
latter  year.  His  twins,  Hamuet  aud  Judith,  were  baptized, 

>  This  use  of  the  word  "warned"  occurs  several  times  in  SLake- 
speare  :  in  "  Antony  and  Cleopatra,"  Octavius  tells  Antony, 

"They  mean  to  warn  us  at  Philippi  here  :" 
and  in  "  King  John,"  after  King  Philip  has  said, 

"  Some  trumpet  summon  hither  to  the  -walls 

These  men  of  Angiers," 
a  citizen  exclaims  from  the  battlements, 

"Who  is  it  that  hath  warned  us  to  the  walls?" 

in  any  way  by  the  execution  of  Edward  Arden,  a  maternal  relative 
of  the  family,  at  the  close  of  15S3.  According  to  Dugdale,  it  -was 
more  than  suspected  that  he  came  to  his  end  through  the  power  of 
Leicester,  who  was  exasperated  against  him,  t"  for  galling  him  bv 
certain  harsh  expressions,  touching  his  private  accesses  to  the  Count- 
ess of  Essex,"  while  she  was  still  the  wife  of  Walter  Devereux.  It 
ioes  not  appear  that  there  had  been  any  intercourse  between  Edward 
Arden,  then  tho  head  of  his  family,  and  Mary  Shakespeare,  th« 
youngest  daughter  of  the  junior  branch. 
3  Shakspeare  by  Boswell,  vol.  ii.  p.  157 


1.XXX1V  THE    LIFE    OF 

88  we  "nave  shown,  early  in  February,  1585>  and  his  lather 
did  not  cease  to  be  an  alderman  until  about  a  year  and  seven 
months  afterwards.  The  fact,  that  his  son  had  become  a 
player,  may  have  had  something  to  do  with  the  lower  rank 
Ms  brethren  of  the  bench  thought  lie  ought  to  hold  in  the 
corporation ;  or  the  resolution  of  the  son  to  abandon  his 
home  may  have  arisen  out  of  the  degradation  of  the  fathei 
in  his  native  town  ;  but  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  the 
two  circumstances  were  in  some  way  connected,  and  that 
the  period  of  the  departure  of  William  Shakespeare,  to  seek 
bis  fortune  in  a  company  of  players  in  the  metropolis,  may 
be  fixed  in  the  latter  end  of  1586. 

Nevertheless,  we  do  not  hear  of  him  in  London  until 
three  years  afterwards,  when  we  find  him  a  sharer  in  the 
Blackfriars  theatre.  It  had  been  constructed  (or,  possibly, 
if  not  an  entirely  new  building,  some  large  edifice  had  been 
adapted  to  the  purpose)  upon  part  of  the  site  of  the  dis- 
solved monastery,  because  it  was  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  lord  mavor  and  corporation  of  London,  who  had  always 
evinced  decided  hostility  to  dramatic  representations1.  The 

1  The  excess  to  which  the  enmity  between  the  corporation  of  Lon- 
don and  the  players  was  carried  may  be  judged  by  the  following 
quotation  from  "a  Jig,"  or  humorous  theatrical  ballad,  called  "Tho 
Horse-load  of  Fools."  which,  in  the  manuscript  in  which  it  has  been 
handed  down  to  us,  is  stated  to  have  bean  written  by  Richard  Tarl- 
ton,  and  in  all  probability  was  delivervd  by  him  before  applauding 
audiences  at  the  Theatre  in  Shoreditch.  Tarlton  introduces  to  the 
•pectator  a  number  of  puppets,  accompanying  the  exhibition  by  sa- 
tirical stanzas  upon  each,  and  he  thus  speaks  of  one  of  them  : — 

"  This  foole  comes  from  the  citizens ; 

Nay,  prithee  doe  not  frowne  ; 
I  knowe  him  as  well  as  you 
By  his  liverie  gowne  : 

Of  a  rare  horne-mad  famihe. 

"  He  is  a  foole  by  prenticeship 

And  servitude,  he  saves, 
And  hates  all  kindes  of  wisedome, 
But  most  of  all  in  playes : 

Of  a  verie  obstinate  familie. 

"  You  have  him  in  his  liverie  gowne, 

But  presentlie  he  can 
Qualifie  for  a  mule  or  a  mare. 
Or  for  an  alderman  ; 

With  a  golde  chaine  in  his  family. 

"  Being  borne  and  bred  for  a  foole, 

Why  should  he  be  wise, 
It  would  make  him  not  fitt  to  sitt 
With  his  brethren  of  assize ; 

Of  a  verie  long  earde  familie." 

Pomibly  the  lord  mayor  and  aldermen  complained  of  this  vert 
composition,  and  it  may  have  been  one  of  the  causes  which,  soon  af- 
Urvrards,  led  to  the  silencing  of  the  company  :  at  all  events  it  wai 
»ot  Ukely  to  conciliate  the  members  of  the  corporation. 


WILLIAM    SH  4KESPEAHE.  1XXXV 

undertaking  seems  to  have  been  prosperous  from  th«  com 
mencement ;  and  in  1589  no  fewer  than  sixteen  performers 
were  sharers  iu  it,  including,  besides  Shakespeare  and  Bur- 
haice.  Thomas  Greene  of  Stratford-upon-Avou,  anil  Xicholaa 
Tooley,  also  a  Warwickshire  man  :  the  association  was  prob- 
ably thus  numerous  on  account  of  the  flourishing  state  of 
the  concern,  many  being  desirous  to  obtain  an  interest  in  ita 
receipts.  In  1589  some  general  complaints  seem  to  have 
boon  made,  that  improper  matters  were  introduced  into 
plays  ;  and  it  is  quite  certain  that  "  the  children  of  Paul's," 
as  the  acting  choir-boys  of  that  cathedral  were  called,  and 
the  association  of  regular  professional  performers  occupy- 
ing the  Theatre  in  Shoreditch  at  this  date,  had  introduced 
Martin  Mar-prelate  upon  their  stages,  in  a  manner  that  had 
given  great  offence  to  the  Puritans.  Tylney,  the  master  of 
the  revels,  had  interposed,  and  having  brought  the  matter 
io  the  knowledge  of  Lord  Burghley,  two  bodies  of  players, 
tli  ise  of  the  Lord  Admiral  and  Lord  Strange,  (the  latter 
by  this  time  having  advanced  from  tumblers  to  actors)  had 
been  summoned  before  the  lord  mayor,  and  ordered  to  de- 
sist from  all  performances1.  The  silencing  of  other  associ- 
ations would  probably  have  been  beneficial  to  that  exhibit- 
ing at  BlacktViars,  and  if  no  proceeding  of  any  kind  had 
been  instituted  against  James  Burbage  and  his  partners,  we 
may  presume  that  they  wovl<l  have  continued  quietly  to 
reap  their  augmented  harvest.  We  are  led  to  infer,  how- 
ever, that  they  also  apprehended,  and  experienced,  some  mea- 
sure of  restraint,  and  feeling  conscious  that  they  had  given 
no  just  ground  of  offence,  they  transmitted  to  the  privy 
council  a  sort  of  certificate  of  their  good  conduct,  asserting 
that  they  had  never  introduced  into  their  representations 
matters  of  state  and  religion,  and  that  no  complaint  of  that 
kind  had  ever  been  preferred  against  them.  This  certificate 
passed  into  the  hands  of  Lord  Ellesmere,  then  attorney- 
general,  and  it  has  been  preserved  among  his  papers.  We 
subjoin  a  copy  of  it  in  a  note1. 

1  All  the  known  details  of  these  transactions  may  be  seen  in  "The 
Hist,  of  Engl.  Dram.  Poetry  and  the  tStage,''  vol.  i.  p.  -211,  Ace. 

2  It  is  on  a  long  slip  of  paper,  very  neatly  written,  but  without 
my  names  appended. 

"  These  are  to  certifie  your  right  Honble  Lordships,  that  her  Ma- 
jesty's poore  Playeres,  James  Burbadge.  Richard  Burbadge,  John 
Laneham.  Thomas  Greene,  Robert  Wilson,  John  Taylor,  Anth. 
Wadeson,  Thomas  Pope,  George  Peele,  Augustine  Phillipps,  Nicho- 
las Towley,  William  Shakespeare.  William  Kempe,  William  John 
son,  Baptiste  Goodale,  and  Robert  Armyn,  being  all  of  them  sharers 
in  the  blacke  Fryers  playehouse,  have  never  given  cause  of  displea- 
sure, in  that  they  have  brought  into  their  p  lares  maters  of  state  ana 
Religion,  unlitt  to  be  handled  by  them,  or  to  be  presented  before 
lewde  spectators :  neither  hath  anie  complaynte  in  that  kinde  evei 
iene  mef«)  jd«  against  them,  or  anie  of  them.  Wherefore,  they  trust 


THE    LIFE    OF 

It  seems  rather  strange  that  this  testimonial  should  hav« 
come  from  the  players  themselves :  we  should  rather  have 
expected  that  they  would  have  procured  a  certificate  from 
some  disinterested  parties ;  and  we  are  to  take  it  merely  as 
a  statement  on  their  own  authority,  and  possibly  as  a 
sort  of  challenge  for  inquiry.  When  they  say  that  no 
complaint  of  the  kind  had  ever  been  preferred  against  them, 
•we  are  of  course  to  understand  that  the  assertion  applies 
to  a  time  previous  to  some  general  representation  against 
theatres,  which  had  been  made  in  1589,  and  in  which  the 
sharers  at  the  Blackfriars  thought  themselves  unjustly  in- 
cluded. In  this  document  we  see  the  important  fact,  as  re- 
gards the  biography  of  Shakespeare,  that  in  1589  he  was, 
not  only  an  actor,  but  a  sharer  in  the  undertaking  at  Black- 
friars  ;  and  whatever  inference  may  be  drawn  from  it,  we 
find  that  his  name,  following  eleven  others,  precedes  those 
of  Kempe,  Johnson,  Goodale,  and  Armyn.  Kempe,  we 
know,  was  the  successor  of  Tarlton  (who  died  in  1588)  in 
comic  parts1,  and  must  have  been  an  actor  of  great  value 
and  eminence  in  the  company :  Johnson,  as  appears  by  the 
royal  license,  had  been  one  of  the  theatrical  servants  of  the 
Earl  of  Leicester  in  157-t2:  of  Goodale  we  have  no  account, 
but  he  bore  a  Stratford  name3;  and  Armyn,  though  he  had 
been  instructed  by  Tarlton4,  was  perhaps  at  this  date  quite 
young,  and  of  low  rank  in  the  association.  The  situation  in 

most  humblie  in  your  Lordships  consideration  of  their   former  good 
behaviour,  being  at  all  tymes  readie,  and  willing,  to  yeelde  obedience 
to  any  command  whatsoever  your  Lordships  in  your  wisdome  may 
thinke  in  such  case  meete,  &c. 
"Nov.  1589." 

on  the  succession  in  which  they  are  inserte'd.  because  among  the  four 
names  which  follow  that  of  our  great  dramatist  are  certainly  two 
performers,  one  of  them  of  the  highest  reputation,  and  the  other  of 
long  standing  in  the  profession. 

1  In  the  dedication  of  his  "  Almond  for  a  Parrot,''  printed  without 
date,  but  not  later  than  15S9,  (the  year  of  which  we  are  now  speak- 
ing) Thomas  Nash  calls  Kempe  "  Jestmonger  and  Vice-gerent  gene- 
la.1  to  the  ghost  of  Dick  Tarlton."  Heywood,  in  his  "Apology  for 
Actors,"  lb'1-2,  (Shakespeare  Society's  reprint,  p.  43)  tells  us  that 
Kempe  succeeded  Tarlton  -'as  well  in  the  favour  of  her  Majesty,  aa 
in  the  opinion  and  good  thoughts  of  the  general  audience." 

a  He  was  also  one  of  the  executors  under  Ta.rlton's  will,  and  was 
also  trustee  for  his  son  Philip.  See  p.  xiii.  What  became  of  Johnson 
»fter  15s<J,  we  have  no  information. 

•>  He  was  one  of  the  actors,  with  Laneham,  in  the  anonymous 
manuscript  play  of  '•  Sir  Thomas  More,''  (Harl.  Coll.,  No.  730S)  which, 
we  may  conjecture,  was  licensed  for  the  .stage  before  1592. 

'This  tact  is  stated  in  a  publication  entitled  li  Tarlton's  Jests,"  of 
which  the  earliest  extant  impression  is  in  1611,  but  they  were  no 
ionbt  collected  and  published  very  soon  after  the  death  of  Tarlton 
in  153d. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  IxXXVli 

the  list  which  the  name  of  Shakespeare  occupies  may  seem 
to  show  that,  even  iu  1589,  he  was  a  person  of  considerable 
importance  in  relation  to  the  success  of  the  sharers  in  Black- 
friars  theatre.  In  November,  1589,  he  was  iu  the  middle 
of  his  twenty-sixth  year,  and  iu  the  full  strength,  if  not  in 
the  highest  maturity,  of  his  mental  and  bodily  powers. 

We  can  have  no  hesitation  in  believing  that  he  originally 
came  to  London,  in  order  to  obtain  his  livelihood  by  the 
stage,  and  with  no  other  view.  Aubrey  tells  us  that  he 
was  "  inclined  naturally  to  poetry  and  acting ;"  and  the 
poverty  of  his  father,  and  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  profit- 
able employment  in  the  country  for  the  maintenance  of  his 
family,  without  other  motives,  may  have  induced  him  readily 
to  give  way  to  that  inclination.  Aubrey,  who  had  probably 
taken  due  means  to  inform  himself,  adds,  that  "  he  did  act 
exceedingly  well ;"  and  we  are  convinced  that  the  opinion, 
founded  chiefly  upon  a  statement  by  Rowe,  that  Shake- 
speare was  a  very  moderate  performer,  is  erroneous.  It 
seems  likely  that  for  two  or  three  years  he  employed  him- 
self chiefly  in  the  more  active  duties  of  the  profession  he 
had  chosen ;  and  Feele1,  who  was  a  very  practised  and  popu- 
lar play-wright,  considerably  older  than  Shakespeare,  was  a 
member  of  the  company,  without  saying  anything  of  Wade- 

l  When  the  Rev.  Mr.  Dyce  published  his  edition  of  Peele's  Works, 
he  -was  not  aware  that  there  was  any  impression  of  that  authors 
"  Tale  of  Troy,"  in  l(i'J4,  as  well  as  in  1539,  containing  such  varia- 

Peele  after  its  first  appearance.  The  impression  of  1804  is  the  most 
diminutive  volume,  perhaps,  ever  printed,  not  exceeding  an  inch  and 
a  half  high  by  an  inch  wide,  with  the  following  title  :— -  The  Tale 
of  Troy.  By  G.  Peele,  M.  of  Artes  in  Oxford.  Printed  by  A.  H. 
16U4."  We  will  add  only  two  passages  out  of  many,  to  prove  the 
nature  of  the  changes  and  additions  made  by  Peele  after  the  original 
publication.  In  the  edition  of  16U4  the  poem  thus  opens  : 

"  In  that  world's  wounded  part,  whose  waves  yet  swell 
With  everlasting  showers  of  tears  that  f«" 
And  bosom  bleeds  with  great  effuze  of  bn,^ 
That  long  war  shed,  Troy,  Neptune's  city,  stocd, 
Gorgeously  built,  like  to  the  house  of  Fame, 
Or  court  of  Jove,  as  some  describe  the  same,"  &c. 

The  four  lines  which  commence  the  second  page  of  Mr  Dye*  • 
edition  are  thus  extended  in  the  copy  of  ItiUl  : 


An  earthly  heaven,  or  shining  Paradise, 
Where  ladies  troop'd  in  rich  disguis'd  attire, 
Glistring  like  stars  of  pure  immortal  fire. 
Thus  happy.  Priam,  didst  thou  live  of  yore, 
That  to  thy  fortune  heavens  could  add  no  more." 

Peele  was  dead  in  1598,  and  it  is  likely  that  there  -were  one  or 
more  intervening  impressions  of  "The  Tale  of  Troy,"  between  15-jJ 


THK    LIFE    OF 

•on,  regarding  whom  we  know  nothing,  bat  that  at  a  subse- 
quent date  he  was  one  of  Henslowe's  dramatists;  or  of 
Arniyn,  then  only  just  coming  forward  as  a  comic  performer. 
There  is  reason  to  think  that  Peele  did  not  continue  one  of 
the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  after  1590,  and  his  extant 
dramas  were  acted  by  the  Queen's  players,  or  by  those  of 
the  Lord  Admiral :  to  the  latter  association  Peele  seems 
subsequently  to  have  been  attached,  and  his  •'  Battle  of  Al- 
cazar," printed  in  1594,  purports  on  the  title-page  to  have 
been  played  by  them.  While  Peele  remained  a  member 
of  the  company  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  players,  Shake- 
speare's services  as  a  dramatist  may  not  materially  have 
interfered  with  his  exertions  as  an  actor ;  but  afterwards, 
when  Peele  had  joined  a  rival  establishment,  he  may  have 
been  much  more  frequently  called  upon  to  employ  his  pen, 
and  then  his  value  m  that  department  becoming  clearly 
understood,  he  was  less  frequently  a  performer. 

Out  of  the  sixteen  sharers  of  which  the  company  he  be- 
longed to  consisted  in  1589,  (besides  the  usual  proportion  of 
"  hired  men,"  who  only  took  inferior  characters)  there  would 
be  more  than  a  sufficient  number  for  the  representation  of 
most  plays,  without  the  assistance  of  Shakespeare.  He  was, 
doubtless",  soon  busily  and  profitably  engaged  as  a  dra- 
matist ;  and  this  remark  on  the  rareness  of  his  appearance 
on  the  stage  will  of  course  apply  more  strongly  in  his  after- 
life, when  "he  produced  one  or  more  dramas  every  year. 

His  instructions  to  the  players  in  "  Hamlet "  have  often 
been  noticed  as  establishing  that  he  was  admirably  ac- 
quainted with  the  theory  of  the  art ;  and  if,  as  Rowe  as- 
serts, he  only  took  the  short  part  of  the  Ghost1  in  this 
tragedy,  we  are  to  recollect  that  even  if  he  had  considered 
himself  competent  to  it,  the  study  of  such  a  character  as 
Hamlet,  (the  longest  on  the  stage  as  it  is  now  acted,  and 
still  longer  as  it  was  originally  written)  must  have  con- 
sumed more  time  than  he  could  well  afford  to  bestow  upon 
it,  especially  when  we  call  to  mind  that  there  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  company  who  had  hitherto  represented  most  of 
Ihe  heroes,  and  whose  excellence  was  as  undoubted,  as  his 
popularity  was  extraordinary2.  To  Richard  Burbage  was 

1  "His  name  is  printed,  as  the  custom  was  in  those  times,  amongst 
1  ln.»e  of  the  other  players,  before  some  old  plays,  but  without  any 
l.-a-ticular  account  of  what  sort  of  parts  he  used  to  play ;  and  though 
I  hivi  inquired,  I  never  could  meet  with  any  further  account  of  him 
this  wav.  than  that  the  top  of  his  performance  was  the  Ghost  in  his 
own  •Hamlet/"— Howe's  Life.  Shakespeare's  name  stands  first 
tnionpn.e^layere  of  "Every  Man  in  his  Humour,"  and  fifth  among 

1  Krom  a  MS.  Epitaph  upon  Burbaps,  (who  died  in  1019.)  sold 
•  raonp  the  books  of  the  late  Mr.  He  her.  we  find  that  he  was  the  orig- 
inal  Uainl't,  Romeo,  i'rince  Henry,  Henry  V.,  Richard  III.,  Mao- 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  IxXXlX 

therefore  assigned  the  arduous  character  of  the  Prince, 
while  the  author  took  the  brief,  but  important  part  of  the 
Ghost,  which  required  person,  deportment,  judgment,  and 
voice,  with  a  delivery  distinct,  solemn,  and  impressive.  All 
the  elements  of  a  great  actor  were  needed  for  the  due  per- 
formance of  "  the  buried  majesty  of  Denmark1." 

It  may  be  observed,  in  passing,  that  at  the  period  of  out 
drama,  such  as  it  existed  in  the  hands  of  Shakespeare' 
immediate  predecessors,  authors  were  most  commonly  ac- 
tors also.  Such  was  the  case  with  Greene,  Marlowe" 

beth,  Brutus,  Coriolanus,  Shylock,  Lear,  Pericles,  and  Othello,  in 
Shakespeare's  Plays  :  in  those  of  other  dramatists  he  was  Jeronimo, 
in  Kyd:s  "Spanish  Tragedy;"  Antonio,  in  Marston's  "Antonio  and 
Mellida;"  Frankford,  in  T.  Heywood's  "Woman  killed  with  Kind- 
ness ;"  Philaster.  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  play  of  that  name  : 
Amintor,  in  their  "  Maid's  Tragedy."— See  "  The  Alleyn  Papers," 
printed  by  the  Shakespeare  Society,  p.  xxx.  On  a  subsequent  page 
we  have  inserted  the  whole  passage  relating  to  his  characters  from 
the  Epitaph  on  Burbage. 

i  Mr.  Thomas  Campbell,  in  his  Life  of  Shakespeare,  prefixed  to 
the  edition,  in  one  volume,  Isi33.  was.  we  believe,  the  first  to  remark 

n  the  almost  absolute   n 

T.  for  the  part  of  the  Gh 
"  It 
down 


pon  the  almost  absolute   necessity  of  having  a  good,  if  not  a  great 
.  for  the  part  of  the  Ghost  in  '•  Hamlet." 

t  seems  from  an  obscure  ballad  upon  Marlowe's  death,  (handed 
MS.,  and  quoted  in  "New  Particulars  regarding  the 
Works  of  Shakespeare,''  Svo.  Ib3(i.)  that  he  had  broken  his  leg  while 
acting  at  the  Curtain  Theatre,  which  was  considered  a.  judgment 
upon  him  for  his  irreligious  and  lawless  life. 

"Both  day  and  night  would  he  blt-spheme, 

And  day  and  night  would  sweare  ; 
As  if  his  life  was  but  a  dreame, 
Not  ending  in  despaire. 

"  A  poet  was  he  of  repute, 

And  wrote  full  many  a  playe; 
Now  strutting  in  a  silken  sute, 
Now  begging  by  the  way. 

"  He  had  alsoe  a  player  beene 
Upon  the  Curtaine  stage. 
But  brake  his  leg  in  one  lewd  scene. 
When  in  his  early  age 

"  He  was  a  fellow  to  all  those 

That  did  God's  lawes  reject ; 
Consorting  with  the  Christian's  foes, 
And  men  of  ill  aspect,"  <fcc. 

Tho  ballad  consists  of  twenty-four  similar  stanzas :   if  Marlowt'i 
death  the  author  thus  writes  : 

"  His  lust  was  lawlesse  as  his  life, 
And  biought  about  his  death, 
For  in  a  deadly  mortal  strife, 
Striving  to  stop  the  breath 

•'  Of  one  who  was  his  rival  foe, 

With  his  owne  dagger  slaine, 
He  groan'd  and  word  spoke  never  mo«. 
Pierc't  through  the  eye  and  brain*." 
VOL.    I.  7 


XO  THE    LIFE    OF 

Lodge,  Peele,  probably  Nash,  Munday,  "Wilson,  and  others 
the  same  practice  prevailed  with  some  of  their  successor^ 
Ben  Jonsou.  Heywood,  Webster,  Field,  <fec. ;  but  at  a  some- 
what later  date  dramatists  do  not  usually  appear  to  have 
trodden  the  stage.  We  have  no  hint  that  Dekker,  Chap 
man,  or  Mareton,  though  contemporary  with  Ben  Jonson, 
were  actors ;  and  Massiuger,  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  Middleton, 
Daborae,  and  Shirley,  who  may  be  said  to  have  followed 
them,  as  far  as  we  now  know,  never  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  performance  of  their  own  dramas,  or  of  those  of  other 
poeta.  In  their  day  the  two  departments  of  author  and 
actor  seem  to  have  been  generally  distinct,  while  the  con- 
trary was  certainly  the  case  some  years  anterior  to  the  de- 
mise of  Elizabeth. 

It  is  impossible  to  determine,  almost  impossible  to  guess, 
what  Shakespeare  had  or  had  not  written  in  1589.  That 
he  had  chiefly  employed  his  pen  in  the  revival,  alteration, 
and  improvement  of  existing  dramas  we  are  strongly  dis- 
posed to  believe,  but  that  he  had  not  ventured  upon  origi- 
nal composition  it  would  be  much  too  bold  to  assert.  "  The 
Comedy  of  Errors  "  we  take  to  be  one  of  the  pieces,  which, 
having  been  first  written  by  an  inferior  dramatist1,  was 
heightened  and  amended  by  Shakespeare,  perhaps  about 
the  date  of  which  we  are  now  speaking,  and  "  Love's  La- 
bour's Lost,"  or  "  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,"  may  have 
been  original  compositions  brought  upon  the  stage  prior  to 
1590.  We  also  consider  it  more  than  probable  that  "  Titus 
Andronieus  "  belongs  even  to  an  earlier  period ;  but  we  feel 
satisfied,  that  although  Shakespeare  had  by  this  time  given 
clear  indications  of  powers  superior  to  those  of  any  of  his 
rivals,  he  could  not  have  written  any  of  his  greater  works 
until  some  years  afterwards".  With  regard  to  productions 
Which  pretty  exactly  accords  with  the  tradition  of  the  mode  in 
which  he  came  to  his  end,  in  a  scuffle  with  a  person  of  the  name  of 
Archer  :  the  register  of  his  death  at  St.  Nicholas.  Deptford,  ascertain* 
the  name  :— "  1st  June,  1593.  Christopher  Marlowe  slain  by  Francis 
Archer."  He  was  just  dead  when  Peele  wrote  his ''Honour  of  the 
Garter,"  in  15<«,  and  there  spoke  of  him  as  "  unhappy  in  his  end," 
Md  as  having  been  "the  Muses'  darling  for  his  verse." 

1  hee  pp.  xx.  and  xxxi.,  where  it  is  shown  that  there  was  an  old 
traica,  acted  at  Court  in  1573  and  15s2,  called  '•  The  History  of  Er- 
«ur"  in  one  case,  and  "The  History  of  Fcrrar  "  in  the  other.  Sea 
»Uo  the  Introduction  to  l:The  Comedy  of  Errors." 

*  Lpon  this  point  we  cannot  agree  with  Mr.  F.  G.  Tomlins,  who 
6a»  written  a  very  sensible  and  clever  work  called  "  A  brief  view  of 
the  English  Drama,''  12mo,  1*40  where  he  argues  that  Shakespeare 
probably  began  with  original  composition,  and  not  with  the  adapta- 
tion and  alteration  of  works  he  found  in  possession  of  the  stage  when 
he  joined  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  players.  We  know  that  the  earli- 
rt  charge  against  him  by  a  fellow  dramatist  was,  that  he  had  availed 
MOW  3t  the  productions  of  others,  and  we  have  every  reason  to  be- 
>  that  some  ot  the  plays  upon  which  he  wa*  first  employed  wer» 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  XCl 

unconnected  with  the  stage,  there  are  several  pieces  among 
his  scattered  poems,  aad  some  of  his  sonnets',  that  indispu- 
tably belong  to  an  earlier  part  of  his  life.  A  young  man, 
so  gifted,  would  not,  and  could  not,  wait  until  he  was  five 
or  six  and  twenty  before  he  made  considerable  and  most 
succesful  attempts  at  poetical  composition;  and  we  feel 
morally  certain  that  "  Venus  and  Adonis "  was  in  being 
anterior  to  Shakespeare's  quitting  Stratford9.  It  bears  all 
the  marks  of  youthful  vigour,  of  strong  passion,  of  luxuriant 
imagination,  together  with  a  force  and  originality  of  ex- 
pression which  betoken  the  first  efforts  of  a  great  mind,  not 
always  well  regulated  in  its  taste  :  it  seems  to  have  been 
written  in  the  open  air  of  a  fine  country  like  Warwickshire, 
with  all  the  freshness  of  the  recent  impression  of  natural 
objects ;  and  we  will  go  so  far  as  to  say,  that  we  do  not 
think  even  Shakespeare  himself  could  have  produced  it,  in 
the  form  it  bears,  after  he  had  reached  the  age  of  forty.  It 
was  quite  new  in  its  class,  being  founded  upon  no  model, 
either  ancient  or  modern :  nothing  like  it  had  been  attempted 
before,  and  nothing  comparable  to  it  was  produced  after- 
Avards3.  Thus  b  1593  he  might  call  it,  in  the  dedication  to 

not  by  any  means  entirely  his  own  :  we  allude  among  others  to  the 
three  parts  of  '•  Henry  VI."  It  seems  to  us  much  more  likely  that 
Shakespeare  in  the  first  instance  confined  himself  to  alterations  and 
improvemer.es  of  the  plays  of  predecessors,  than  that  he  at  once  found 
himself  capable  of  inventing  and  constructing  a  great  original 
drama.  However,  it  is  but  fair  to  quote  the  words  of  Mr.  Tomlins. 
u  We  aro  thus  driven  to  the  conclusion  that  his  writing  must  have 
procure!  him  this  distinction.  What  had  he  written  ?  is  the  next 
question  that  presents  itself.  Probably  original  plays,  for  the  adap- 
tation of  the  plays  of  others  could  scarcely  be  entrusted  to  the  inex- 
perienced hands  of  a  young  genius,  who  had  not  manifested  his  know- 
ledge of  stage  matters  by  any  productions  of  his  own.  This  kind  of 
work  would  be  jealously  watched  by  the  managers,  and  must  ever 
have  required  great  skill  and  experience.  Shakespeare,  mighty  as  he 
was.  was  human,  and  it  is  scarcely  possible  that  a  genius,  so.  ripe, 
so  rich,  so  overflowing  as  his,  should  not  have  its  enthusiasm  kin- 
dle I  into  an  original  production,  and  not  by  the  mechanical  botching 
of  the  inferior  productions  of  others,"  p.  31. 

Upon  this  passage  we  have  only  to  remark  that  according  to  oui 
view,  it  would  have  required  much  more  "skill  and  experience''  to 
write  a  new  play,  than  merely  to  make  additions  to  the  speeches  or 
scenes  of  an  old  one. 

i  '•  His  sugar'd  sonnets"  were  handed  about  "among  his  private 
friends"  many  years  before  they  were  printed  :  Francis  Meres  men- 
tions them  in  the  words  we  have  quoted,  in  1598. 

'  Malone  was  of  opinion  that  "  Venus  and  Adonis"  was  not  writ. 
ten  until  after  Shakespeare  came  to  London,  because  in  one  stanza 
it  contains  an  allusion  to  the  stage, 

"And  all  this  dumb  ptny  had  his  acts  made  plain 

With  tears,  which,  chorus-like,  her  eyes  did  drain." 
Surely,  such  a  passage  might  have  been  written  by  a  person  who  had 
never  seen  a  play  in  London,  or  even  seen  a  pky  at  all.     The  stage- 
Knowledge  it  displays  is  merely  that  of  a  schoo  boy. 

'  The  work  that  oomis  nearest  to  it,  in  some  respects,  is  Marlowe'* 


Cii  THE    LIFE    OF 

Lord  Southampton,  "  the  first  heir  of  his  invention "  in  a 
double  sense,  not  merely  because  it  was  the  first  printed 
but  because  it  was  the  first  written  of  his  productions. 

The  information  we  now  possess  enables  us  at  once  tc 
reject  the  story,  against  the  truth  of  which  Malone  elabo- 
rately argued,  that  Shakespeare's  earliest  employment  at  a 
theatre  was  holding  the  horses  of  noblemen  and  gentlemen 
who  visited  it,  and  that  he  had  under  him  a  number  of  lads 
•who  were  known  as  "  Shakespeare's  boys."  Shiels  in  hia 
*  Lives  of  the  Poets,"  (published  in  1753  in  the  name  of 
Gibber)  was  the  first  to  give  currency  to  this  idle  inven- 
tion :  it  was  repeated  by  Dr.  Johnson,  and  has  often  been 
reiterated  since;  and  we  should  hardly  have  thought  it 
worth  notice  now,  if  it  had  not  found  a  place  in  many  modem 
accounts  of  our  great  dramatist1.  The  company  to  which 

u  Hero  and  Leander ;"  but  it  was  not  printed  until  1598.  and  although 
its  author  was  killed  in  1593,  he  may  have  seen  Shakespeare's  "  Ve- 
nus and  Adonis "  in  manuscript :  it  is  quite  as  probable,  as  that 
Shakespeare  had  seen  "  Hero  and  Leander  "  before  it  was  printed. 
Marston's  "  Pygmalion's  Image,"  published  five  years  after  "  Venus 
and  Adonis,"  is  a  gross  exaggeration  of  its  style ;  and  Barkstead'g 
"  Myrrha  the  Mother  of  Adonis  "  is  a  poor  and  coarse  imitation  :  the 
same  poet's  "  Hiren,  or  the  Fair  Greek,"  is  of  a  similar  character. 
Shirley's  •'Narcissus."  which  must  have  been  written  many  years 
afterwards,  is  a  production  of  the  same  class  as  Marston's  "  Pygma- 
lion," but  in  better  taste.  The  poem  called  "  Salmasis  and  Herma- 
phroditus," first  printed  in  16U-J,  and  assigned  to  Francis  Beaumont 
in  1640,  when  it  was  republished  by  Blaicklock  the  bookseller,  we  do 
not  believe  to  have  been  the  authorship  of  Beaumont,  and  it  is  rathei 
an  imitation  of  "  Hero  and  Leander  "  than  of  "  Venus  and  Adonis'." 
At  the  date  when  it  originally  came  out  (1602)  Beaumont  was  only 
sixteen,  and  the  first  edition  has  no  name  nor  initials  to  the  address 
"To  Calliope,"  to  which  Blaicklock  in  1640,  for  his  own  book-selling 
purposes,  thought  fit  to  add  the  letters  F.  B.  In  the  same  way,  and 
with  the  same  object,  he  changed  the  initials  to  a  commendatory 
poem  from  A.  F  to  I.  P.,  in  order  to  make  it  appear  as  if  John 
Fletcher  had  applauded  his  friend's  early  verses.  These  are  facts 
that  hitherto  have  escaped  observation,  perhaps,  on  account  of  the 
extreme  rarity  of  copies  of  the  original  impression  of  "  Salmasis  and 
Hermaphroditus,"  preventing  a  comparison  of  it  with  Blaick)ock's 
fraudulent  reprint,  which  also  contains  various  pieces  to  which,  it  is 
known,  Beaumont  had  no  pretensions.  To  afford  the  better  means  .-* 
comparison,  and  as  we  know  of  only  one  copy  of  the  edition  of  160'J, 
we  subjoin  the  title-page  prefixed  to  it :  Salmasis  and  Hermaphroditus. 
Snlmacida  spolia  sine  sanguine  el  sudore.  Imprinted  at  London  for 
John  Hodgets,  &c.  1602.'r4to. 

1  It  is  almost  to  be  wondered  that  the  getters  up  of  this  piece  of 
information  did  not  support  it  by  reference  to  Shakespeare's  obvioui 
knowledge  of  horses  and  horsemanship,  displayed  in  so  many  parts 
of  his  works.  The  description  of  the  horse  in  "Venus  and  Adonis  " 
Will  at  once  occur  to  every  body  ;  and  how  much  it  was  admired  at 
the  time  is  evident  from  the  iict,  that  it  was  plagiarised  so  soon  after 
It  was  published.  (See  the  Introduction.)  For  his  judgment  of 

till  in  riding,  among  other  passages,  see  his  account  of  Lamord'i 
horsemanship  in  "  Hamlet."  The  propagators  and  supporters  of 
the  horee-holling  anecdote  ought  to  have  added,  that  Shakespeare 
Mobably  deived  his  minute  and  accurate  acquam^ance  with  the 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  XC1> 

he  attached  himself  had  not  unfrequently  performed  ii 
Stiatford,  and  at  that  date  the  Queen's  Players  and  th< 
Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  seem  sometimes  to  have  beec 
confounded  in  the  provinces,  although  the  difference  wat 
well  understood  in  London ;  some  of  the  chief  members 
of  it  had  come  from  his  own  part  of  the  country,  and  ever 
from  the  very  town  in  which  he  was  born ;  and  he  was  uoi 
in  a  station  of  life,  nor  so  destitute  of  means  and  friends,  at 
to  have  been  reduced  to  such  an  extremity. 

Besides  having  written  "  Venus  and  Adonis "  before  he 
came  to  London,  Shakespeare  may  also  have  composed  its 
counterpart,  "  Lucrece,"  which,  as  our  readers  are  aware, 
first  appeared  in  print  in  1594.  It  is  in  a  different  stanza, 
and  in  some  respects  in  a  different  style  ;  and  after  he  joined 
the  Blackfriars  company,  the  author  may  possibly  have 
added  parts,  (such,  for  instance,  as  the  long  and  minute  de- 
scription of  the  siege  of  Troy  in  the  tapestry)  which  indi- 
cate a  closer  acquaintance  with  the  modes  and  habits  of 
society ;  but  even  here  no  knowledge  is  displayed  that 
miiiht  not  have  been  acquired  in  Warwickshire.  As  he  had 
exhibited  the  wantonness  of  lawless  passion  in  "  Venus  and 
Adonis,"  he  followed  it  by  the  exaltation  of  matron-like 
chastity  in  "  Lucrece  ;"  and  there  is,  we  think,  nothing  in  the 
latter  poem  which  a  young  man  of  one  or  two  and  twenty, 
so  endowed,  might  not  have  written.  Neither  is  it  at  all 
impossible  that  he  had  done  something  in  connexion  with 
the  stage  while  he  was  yet  resident  in  his  native  town,  and 
before  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  quit  it  If  his  "  inclina- 
tion for  poetry  and  acting,"  to  repeat  Aubrey's  words,  were 
so  strong,  it  may  have  led  him  to  have  both  written  and 
acted.  He  may  have  contributed  temporary  prologues  or 
epilogues,  and  without  supposing  him  yet  to  have  possessed 
any  extraordinary  art  as  a  dramatist — only  to  be  acquired 
by"  practice, — he  may  have  inserted  speeches  and  occasional 
passages  in  older  plays :  he  may  even  have  assisted  some 
of  the  companies  in  getting  up,  and  performing  the  dramas 
they  represented  in  or  near  Stratford1.  We  own  that  this 

subject  from  his  early  observation  of  the  skill  of  the  English  nobility 
ind  gentry,  after  they  had  remounted  at  the  play-house  door  : — 
"But  chiefly  skill  to  ride  seems  a  science 

Proper  to  gentle  blood."— Spensers  F.  Q,.  b.  ii.  c.  4. 
-  We  have  already  stated  that  although  in  1536  only  one  un- 
named company  performed  in  Stratford,  in  the  very  next  year 
(that  in  which  we  have  supposed  Shakespeare  to  have  become  a  regu- 
lar actor)  five  companies  were  entertained  in  tne  borough  :  one  of 
these  consisted  of  the  players  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  to  whom  the 
Blackfriars  theatre  belonged  ;  and  it  is  very  possible  that  Shakespeare 
at  that  date  exhibited  before  his  fellow-townsmen  in  his  n  ;w  pro- 
fessional capacity.  Before  this  time  his  performances  at  Stratford 
way  have  beea  merelyof  an  amateur  description.  It  is,  at  all  event*, 


XC1V  THE    LIFE    OF 

conjecture  appears  to  us  at  least  plausible,  and  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  servants  (known  as  the  Earl  of  Leicester's 

Q'     ere  until  1587)  may  bave  experienced  his  utility  in 
departments,  and  may  have  held  out  strong  induce 
meuts  to  so  promising  a  novice  to  continue  his  assistance  by 
accompanying  them  to  London. 

What  we  have  here  said  seems  a  natural  and  easy  way 
of  accounting  for  Shakespeare's  station  as  a  sharer  at  the 
Blackfriurs  theatre  in  1589,  about  three  years  after  we  sup 
pose  him  to  have  finally  adopted  the  profession  of  an  actor, 
and  to  have  come  to  London  for  the  purpose  of  pursuing  it 


CHAPTER  VI L 

The  earliest  allusion  to  Shakespeare  in  Spenser's  "  Tears  of 
the  Muses,"  1591.  Proofs  of  its  applicability— What 
Shakespeare  had  probably  by  this  date  written — Edmund 
Spenser  of  Kinsrsbury,  Warwickshire.  No  other  dramatist 
01  the  time  merited  the  character  given  by  Spenser.  Greene. 
Kyd,  Lodge,  Peele,  Marlowe,  and  Lyly,  and  their  several 
claims:  that  of  Lyly  supported  by  Malone.  Temporary 
cessation  of  dramatic  performances  in  London.  Prevalence 
of  the  Plngue  in  1592.  Probability  or  improbability  that 
Shakespeare  went  to  Italy. 

WE  come  now  to  the  earliest  known  allusion  to  Shakespeare 
as  a  dramatist ;  and  although  his  surname  is  not  given,  we 
apprehend  that  there  can  be  no  hesitation  in  applying  what 
is  said  to  him :  it  is  contained  in  Spenser's  "  Tears  of  the 
Muses."  a  poem  printed  in  15911.  The  application  of  the 
passage  to  Shakespeare  has  been  much  contested,  but  the 
difficulty  in  our  mind  is,  how  the  lines  are  to  be  explained 
by  reference  to  any  other  dramatist  of  the  time,  even  sup- 
posing, as  we  have  supposed  and  believe,  that  our  great 
poet  was  at  this  period  only  rising  into  notice  as  a  writer  for 
the  stage.  We  will  first  quote  the  lines,  literatim  as  they 
eland  in  the  edition  of  1591,  and  afterwards  say  something 
of  the  claims  of  others  to  the  distinction  they  confer, 
^striking  circumstance,  that  in  1586  only  one  company  performed, 

theatricals  in  Stratford. 

>  Malone  (Shakspeare  by  Boswell,  vol.  ii.  p.  168)  says  that  Spen- 
ter's"  Tears  of  the  Muses"  was  published  in  1590,  but  the  volume 
in  which  it  first  appeared  bears  date  in  1591.  It  was  printed  with 
tome  other  pieces  under  the  title  of  "  Complaints.  Containing  sun- 
irie  small  Poems  of  the  Worlds  Vanitie  Whereof  the  next  Page 
maketh  mention.  By  Ed.  Sp.  London.  Imprinted  for  William 
Ponsonbie,  &c.  1591.*'  It  will  be  evident  from  what  follows  in  oui 
text,  that  a  j  lai  i»  of  considerable  importance  to  the  question. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  XC* 

"  And  he  the  man,  whom  Nature  selfe  had  male 
To  mock  her  selfe,  and  Truth  to  imitate., 

With  kindly  counter  under  Mimick  shade-, 
Our  pleasant  Willy,  ah  !  is  dead  of  late : 

With  whom  all  joy  and  jolly  merimett 

Is  also  deaded,  and  in  dolour  drent. 

"  In  stead  thereof  scoffing  Scurrilitie, 

And  scornful!  Follie  with  contempt  is  crept, 
Rolling  in  rymes  of  shameless  ribaudrie, 
Without  regard  or  due  Decorum  kept : 
Each  idle  wit  at  will  presumes  to  make, 
And  doth  the  Leurned's  taske  upon  him  take. 
"  But  that  same  gentle  Spirit,  from  whose  pen 

Large  streames  of  lionnie  and  sweete  Nectar  flowo, 
Scorning  the  boldnes  of  such  base-borne  men, 

Which  dare  their  follies  forth  so  rashlie  throwe, 
Doth  rather  choose  to  sit  in  idle  Cell, 
Thau  so  himselfe  to  mockerie  to  sell." 

The  most  striking  of  these  lines,  with  reference  to  out 
present  inquiry,  is, 

"  Our  pleasant  Willy,  ah  !  is  dead  of  late;" 
and  hence,  if  it  stood  alone,  we  might  infer  that  Willy,  who- 
ever he  might  be,  was  actually  dead ;  but  the  latter  part 
of  the  third  stanza  we  have  quoted  shows  us  in  what  sense 
the  word  "  dead  "  is  to  be  understood :  Willy  was  "  dead  " 
as  far  as  regarded  the  admirable  dramatic  talents  he  had 
already  displayed,  which  had  enabled  him,  even  before 
1591,  to  outstrip  all  living  rivalry,  and  to  afford  the  most 
certain  indications  of  the  still  greater  things  Spenser  saw  be 
would  accomplish :  he  was  "  dead,"  because  he 

"  Doth  rather  choose  to  sit  in  idle  Cell, 
Than  so  himselfe  to  mockerie  to  sell." 

It  is  to  be  borne  in  mind  that  these  stanzas,  and  six 
others,  are  put  into  the  mouth  of  Thalia,  whose  lamenta- 
tion on  the  degeneracy  of  the  sUige,  especially  in  comedy, 
follows  those  of  Calliope  and  Melpomene.  Rowe,  under 
the  impression  that  the  whole  passage  referred  to  Shako- 
speare,  introduced  it  into  his  "  Life,"  in  his  first  edition  of 
1709,  but  silently  withdrew  it  in  his  second  edition  of  171 4 
bis  reason,  perhaps,  was  that  he  did  not  see  how,  befuro 
1691,  Shakespeare  could  have  shown  that  he  merited  the 
character  given  of  him  and  his  productions — 

"  And  he  the  man,  whom  Nnture  selfe  had  made 
To  mock  her  selfe,  and  Truth  to  imitate." 

Spenser  knew  what  the  object  of  his  eulogy  was  capable 
ol  doing,  as  well,  perhaps,  as  what  he  had  d<  ne ;  and  w$ 


cvnfc«l.  |M«»  fad  ran  to  be 

I  I'liiTi   mill   ii  if-   Ijxd  Cfeamberiaia  s  eanav*,  » 

.-:_--  :        -      '.-  /  .      _•: 

*-«•  Seel  *SKTO!  th*  be  fad  K*  eonpoeed  any  rf  IK  grat 
cat  -rocks  befcre  15?L  be  XLAT  bare 

rfaax  fas  eosi-e  <ic--m  to  is.  amply  to  • 

ten  bevcod  ill  tk  tLetttrieal 


te  •  1597  ; 

.        .       -    '     .. 


.        .  ..  ..  . 

part  <*  rkrt  be  iMi  se  vntta  B  oa^awd  m  tLe  fafi* 

:    .    .  _-      _.-•-;;_  i   . 

:  !  -  j- 


-is'  m  16161.  be  cciaded  §ev« 
vii*  be  fad  be«a  aided  br  otbcr  poets1,  and  re-rrote  pmrt 
of  -  SejacaB."  because,  as  K  soppieed.  Shakespeare,  (vbo 

_  --:  —  -  ^  -_.--  --  j-_^" 
i±n  in  tbe  cccnpcekkc  of  tbe  traeedr  as  it 
.  -    .       -     -    •  --:-_:._       : 

-Com-a£es.  Tn^e&es.   and   ffistorks,*  • 
.       •        .    •-.-•-  -  - 

tnnfl'm^  m  tbe  ease  rf  tbe  tkree  parts  of  "  Bearr  TL ^ 
tbe  p  «=£  oc  j>:^s.  -rbo  bad  etotnbctad  to  tbeae  BEtocies 
(perfape  Ibric.ve  axd  Gf«avi  fad  been  tben  dad  tbirty 


years;  btf  rai  reaped  to  flto-  pHec%  penow a n& 

-:..._•  -  ..     - 

^w  AOL  i*i  h«e  feir  euiaui1.     We  cnlr 

a.  p;«afcii   ifi  i  IMII  UMI  i  ;  bat  ve  are 


tr  ix  ii*  aiezipcica  to 

-      L       1 

:   - 


WILLIAM    SHAE35PEARi.  XCVU 

Shakespeare,  early  in  his  theatrical  life.  HUH*  i*v«  writte* 
.-.  alteratiooa,  or  jomt  prudoe- 

::„-  —  •       •_•-•••-      „--     -  -  .    :   •        •    .  -"- 

•-  .  -    .-      •  :  _  ._  .     :_..:    :.  :        .     .  -  .       •   --       _-;:  ... 

.    ....  .-  .      -          : :  .  -   •     .  :.:._'.'.-'. 

he  had  <jBtjr  breogfat  oat  *Tl*c  Two  GastlezBCB  «f  Verma," 
cod  -  Love's  Labour 's  Lost."  they  are  so  •rfaifaiy  superior 
b>th«  best  works  <rf]»iir«deeesaen,tirttiMJirtie*oi  the 


u  whom  Katare's  w^fe  had  mad« 


a 

presses  nearly  all  the 
IB  soaoeptibie — the 
truth. 


Spenser,  if  not  »  W. 
dent  b  Warwicksfci 
aoquainted  with  Skakespeare.  His 


dent  b  Warwicksfcire,  a«d  fater  •  fife  b*  Bar  b»T« 
birth  bad  beat 


tandly  placed  io  155S1,  aod  <•  tike  Mtbrity  cf  «ne&a 
_i'™tbal»aaon"it  has  been  supposed  that  be  wad 
bora  in  London:  East  ^•il^iiVt  n«ar  the  Tower,  has  abo 


Tower, 

been  fixed  upon  as  the  part  of  ti*  town  wkc«  be  first 
drew  breath:  bet  the  parisk  registers  in  dat 
hood  bave  Wo  aetrcfed  n  TM  iar  a  nme«rf  «f  the 
Aa  Edmood  SfMBMr  vqnoftiaMblT  dwrlt  at 
in  Warwieksh^kTl^^iAWa  the  y«w  te 
safer  of  «Tbe  Faerie  QneeBe'went  to  CaKibridge,  and 
was  atfeutted  a  saser  at  Pentafe  Ck&ge.  The  fkct  that 
Ete«d  Spenser  (a 


o  ctk«r  imilT  at  tkat  tiirw.  as  fir  «s  our  re- 
kar«  eitrmded.     It  has  t*«B  too  hastily 


THE    LIFE    OF 

Was  an  inhabitant  of  Kingsbury  in  1569  is  established  bj 
the  muster-book  of  Warwickshh  e,  preserved  in  the  state 
paper  office,  to  which  we  have  before  had  occasion  to  refer 
but  it  does  not  give  the  ages  of  the  parties.  This  Edmund 
Spenser  may  possibly  have  been  the  father  of  the  poet, 
(whose  Christian  name  is  no  where  recorded)  and  if  it  were 
the  one  or  the  other,  it  seems  to  afford  a  link  of  connexion, 
however  slight,  between  Spenser  and  Shakespeare,  of  which 
we  have  had  no  previous  knowledge.  Spenser  was  at  least 
eleven  years  older  than  Shakespeare,  but  their  early  resi- 
dence in  the  same  part  of  the  kingdom  may  have  given 
rise  to  an  intimacy  afterwards1 :  Spenser  must  have  appre- 
ciated and  admired  the  genius  of  Shakespeare,  and  the  au- 
thor of  "  The  Tears  of  the  Muses,"  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
seven,  may  have  paid  a  merited  tribute  to  his  young  friend 
of  twenty'-six. 

The  Edmund  Spenser  of  Kingsbury  may  have  been  en- 
tirely a  different  person,  of  a  distinct  family,  and  perhaps 
we  are  disposed  to  lay  too  much  stress  upon  a  mere  coinci- 
dence of  names ;  but  we  may  be  forgiven  for  clinging  to 
the  conjecture  that  he  may  have  been  the  author  of  "  The 
Faerie  Queeue,"  and  that  the  greatest  romantic  poet  of  this 
country  was  upon  terms  of  friendship  and  cordiality  with 
the  greatest  dramatist  of  the  world.  This  circumstance, 
with  which  we  were  unacquainted  when  we  wrote  the  In- 
troduction to  "  A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,"  mav  appear 
to  give  new  point,  and  a  more  certain  application,  to  the 
well-remembered  lines  of  that  drama  (Act  v.  sc.  i.)  in  which 
Shakespeare  has  been  supposed  to  refer  to  the  death  of 
Spenser',  and  which  may  have  been  a  subsequent  insertion, 

printed  at  the  end  of  his  "  Tragical  Tales,"  1537,  was  not  the  poet. 
Taking  Wood's  representation,  that  these  letters  were  -written  as 
early  as  1509,  it  is  still  very  possible  that  the  author  of  "  The  Faerie 
Queene"  was  the  person  to  whom  they  were  sent:  he  was  a  very 
young  man,  it  is  true,  but  perhaps  not  quite  so  young  as  has  been 
imagined. 

1  Nobody  has  been  able  even  to  speculate  where  Spenser  was  at 
•ohool ; — possibly  at  Kingsbury.  Drayton  was  also  a  Warwicksh-re 
man. 

*  Differences  of  opinion,  founded  upon  discordances  of  contempo- 
raneous, or  nearly  contemporaneous,  representations,  have  prevailed 
respecting  the  extreme  poverty  of  Spenser  at  the  time  of  his  death. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  he  had  a  pension  of  501.  a  year  (at  least  250/. 
of  our  present  money)  from  the  royal  bounty,  which  probably  he 
received  to  the  last.  At  the  same  time  we  think  there  is  much  plau- 
nbility  in  the  story  that  Lord  Burghley  stood  in  the  way  of  some 
•pecial  pecuniary  gift  from  Elizabeth.  The  Rev.  H.  .T.  TodJ  disbe- 
lieves it,  and  in  his  "  Life  of  Spenser  "  calls  it  "  a  calumny,'1  on  the 
iounuation  of  the  pension,  without  considering,  perhaps,  that  the 
•mjrram,  attributed  to  Spenser,  may  have  been  occasioned  by  the 
obstruction  by  the  Lord  Treasurer  of  some  additional  proof  of  the 
'^ueen  »  admiration  for  the  author  of  "  The  Faerie  Queene."  Fullei 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  XCU 

for  the  sake  of  repaying  by  one  poet  a  debt  of  gratitude  to 
the  other. 

Without  taking  into  consideration  what  may  have  been 
lost,  if  we  are  asked  what  we  think  it  likely  that  Shake- 
speare had  written  in  and  before  1591,  we  should  answer, 
that  he  hud  altered  and  added  to  three  parts  of  "  Henry 
VI.,"  that  he  bid  written,  or  aided  in  writing,  "  Titus  Au- 
dronicus,"  that  he  had  revived  and  amended  "  The  Comedy 
of  Errors,"  and  that  he  had  composed  "  The  Two  Gentle- 
men of  Verona,"  and  "  Love's  Labour 's  Lost."  Thus,  look- 
ing only  at  Ins  extant  works,  we  see  that  the  eulogy  of 
Spenser  was  well  warranted  by  the  plays  Shakespeare,  at 
that  early  date,  had  produced. 

If  the  evidence  upon  this  point  were  even  more  scanty, 
we  should  be  convinced  that  by  "  our  pleasant  Willy,"  Spen- 
eer  meant  William  Shakespeare,  by  the  fact  that  such  a 
character  as  he  gives  could  belong  to  no  other  dramatist  of 
the  time.  Greene  can  have  no  pretensions  to  it,  nor  Lodge, 
nor  Kyd,  nor  Peele;  Marlowe  had  never  touched  comedy: 
but  if  these  have  no  title  to  the  praise  that  they  had  mocked 
nature  and  imitated  truth,  the  claim  put  in  by  Malone  for 
Lyly  is  little  short  of  absurd.  Lyly  was,  beyond  dispute, 
the  most  artificial  and  affected  writer  of  his  day:  his 
dramas  have  nothing  like  nature  or  truth  in  them ;  and  if  it 
could  be  established  that  Spenser  and  Lyly  were  on  the 
most  intimate  footing,  even  the  exaggerated  admiration  of 
the  fondest  friendship  could  hardly  have  carried  Spenser  to 
the  extreme  to  which  he  has  gone  in  his  "  Tears  of  the 
Muses."  If  Malone  had  wished  to  point  out  a  dramatist  of 
that  day  to  whom  the  words  of  Spenser  could  by  no  possi- 
bility fitly  apply,  he  could  not  have  made  a  better  choice 
than  when  he  fixed  upon  Lyly.  However,  he  labours  the 

first  published  the  anecdote  in  his  "  Worthies,"  106-2 ;  but  sixty  years 
earlier,  and  within  a  very  short  time  after  the  death  of  Spenser,  the 
story  was  current,  for  we  find  the  lines  in  Manningham's  Diary, 
(llarl.  MS.  5353)  under  the  date  of  May  4,  lb'02 :  they  are  thus  intro- 
duced : 

"  When  her  Majesty  had  given  order  that  Spenser  should  have  a 
reward  for  his  poems,  but  Spenser  could  have  nothing,  he  presented 
her  with  these  verses  : 

"  It  pleased  your  Grace  upon  a  time 

But  from  that  time  until  this  season.  , 
I  heard  of  neither  rhyme  nor  reason." 

The  -wording  differs  slightly  from  Fuller's  copy.  We  add  the  fol 
lowing  epigram  upon  the  death  of  Spenser,  also  on  the  authority  of 
Manningham  : — 

"  In  Spenscrum. 

"  Famous  alive,  and  dead,  here  is  the  odds; 
Then  god  of  poets,  now  poet  of  the  gods.'1 


C  THE    LIFE    OF 

contrary  position  with  great  pertinacity  and  considerable 
ingenuity,  and  it  is  extraordinary  how  a  man  of  much  read- 
ing, and  of  sound  judgment  upon  many  points  of  literary 
discussion,  could  impose  upon  himself,  and  be  led  so  fai 
from  the  truth,  by  the  desire  to  establish  a  novelty.  At  all 
events,  he  might  have  contented  himself  with  an  endeavour 
to  prove  the  negative  as  regards  Shakespeare,  without  going 
the  strange  length  of  attempting  to  make  out  the  affirma- 
tive as  regards  Lyly. 

We  do  not  for  an  instant  admit  the  right  of  any  of  Shake- 
apoare's  predecessors  or  contemporaries  to  the  tribute  of 
Spenser ;  but  Malone  might  have  made  out  a  case  for  any 
of  them  with  more  plausibility  than  for  Lyly.  Greene  waa 
a  writer  of  fertile  fancy,  but  choked  and  smothered  by  the 
overlaying  of  scholastic  learning :  Kyd  was  a  man  of  strong 
natural  parts,  and  a  composer  of  vigorous  lines :  Lodge  was  a 
poet  of  genius,  though  not  in  the  department  of  the  drama : 
Peele  had  an  elegant  mind,  and  was  a  smooth  and  agreea- 
ble versifier ;  while  Marlowe  was  gifted  with  a  soaring  and 
a  daring  spirit,  though  unchecked  by  a  well-regulated  taste : 
but  all  had  more  nature  in  their  dramas  than  Lyly,  who 
generally  chose  classical  or  mythological  subjects,  and  dealt 
with  those  subjects  with  a  wearisome  monotony  of  style, 
with  thoughts  quaint,  conceited,  and  violent,  and  with  an 
utter  absence  of  force  and  distinctness  in  his  characteriza- 
tioa 

It  is  not  necessary  to  enter  farther  into  this  part  of  the 
question,  because,  we  think,  it  is  now  established  that  Spen- 
ser's lines  might  apply  to  Shakespeare  as  regards  the  date 
of  their  pubDcation,  and  indisputably  applied  with  most 
felicitous  exactness  to  the  works  he  has  left  behind  him. 

With  regard  to  the  lines  which  state,  that  Willy 

"  Doth  rather  choose  to  sit  in  idle  Cell, 
Thau  so  hiinselt'e  to  mockerie  to  sell," 

we  have  already  shown  that  in  1589  there  must  have  been 
wine  compulsory  cessation  of  theatrical  performances, 
which  affected  not  only  offending,  but  unoffending  compa 
nies :  hence  the  certificate,  or  more  properly  remonstrance, 
of  the  sixteen  sharers  in  the  Blaekfriars  The  choir-boys 
of  St  Paul's  were  silenced  for  bringing  "  matters  of  state 
and  religion  "  on  their  stage,  when  they  introduced  Martin 
Mar-prelate  into  one  of  their  dramas:  and  the  players  of 
the  Lord  Admiral  and  Lord  Strange  were  prohibited  from 
acting,  as  far  as  we  can  learn,  on  a  similar  ground.  The  in- 
terdiction  of  performances  by  the  children  of  Paul's  waa 
persevered  in  for  about  ten  years ;  and  although  the  public 
companies  (after  the  completion  of  some  inquiries  by  com- 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CJ 

tmssiouers  specially  appointed)  were  allowed  again  to  fol- 
low their  vocation,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  there  was  a 
temporary  suspension  of  all  theatrical  exhibitions  in  Lon- 
don. This  suspension  commenced  a  short  time  before 
Spenser  wrote  his  "  Tears  of  the  Muses,"  in  which  ho 
notices  the  silence  of  Shakespeare. 

We  have  no  means  of  ascertaining  how  long  the  order 
inhibiting  theatrical  performances  generally,  was  persevered 
in  ;  but  the  plague  broke  out  in  London  in  1592,  and  in  the 
autumn  of  the  year,  when  the  number  of  deaths  was  great- 
est, "the  Queen's  players1,"  in  their  progress  round  the 
country,  whither  they  wandered  when  thus  prevented  from 
acting  in  the  metropolis,  performed  at  Chesterton,  near 
Cambridge,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  the  heads  of  the  uni- 
versity. 

It  was  at  this  juncture,  probably,  if  indeed  he  ever  were 
in  that  country,  that  Shakespeare  visited  Italy.  Mr.  C. 
Armitage  Brown,  in  his  very  clever,  and  in  many  respects 
original  work,  "  Shakespeare's  Autobiographical  Poems," 
has  maintained  the  affirmative  with  great  confidence,  and  has 
brought  into  one  view  all  the  internal  evidence  afforded  by 
the  productions  of  our  great  dramatist  External  evidence 
there  is  none,  since  not  even  a  tradition  of  such  a  journey 
has  descended  to  us.  We  own  that  the  internal  evidence. 
in  our  estimation,  is  by  no  means  as  strong  as  it  appeared 
to  Mr.  Brown,  who  has  evinced  great  ingenuity  and  ability 
in  the  conduct  of  his  case,  and  has  made  as  much  as  possi- 
ble of  his  proofs.  He  dwells,  among  other  things,  upon  the 
fact,  that  there  were  no  contemporaneous  translations  of  the 
titles  on  which  "  The  Merchant  of  Venice  "  and  "  Othello  " 
are  founded;  but  Shakespeare  may  have  understood  as 
much  Italian  as  answered  his  purpose  without  having  gone 
to  Venice.  For  the  same  reason  we  lay  no  stress  upon  the 
recently-discovered  fact,  (not  known  when  Mr.  Brown 
wrote)  that  Shakespeare  constructed  his  "  Twelfth  Night " 
with  the  aid  of  one  or  two  Italian  comedies ;  they  mav 
have  found  their  way  into  England,  and  he  may  have  read 
them  in  the  original  language.  That  Shakespeare  was  ca- 
pable of  translating  Italian  sufficiently  for  his  own  pur- 
poses, we  are  morally  certain  ;  but  we  think  that  if  he  had 
travelled  to  Venice,  Verona,  or  Florence,  we  should  have 
had  more  distkict  and  positive  testimony  of  the  fact  in  his 
works  than  can  be  adduced  from  them. 

Other  authors  of  the  time  have  left  such  evidence  behind 

*  They  consisted  of  the  company  under  the  leadership  of  Lawrence 
Button,  one  of  the  two  associations  acting  at  this  period  under  th« 
Queen's  name.  Both  we'e  unconnected  with  Hie  Lord  Chamber* 
tain's  strrauis. 


cii  THE    LIFE    OF 

them  as  cannot  be  disputed.  Lyly  tells  us  so  distinctly  in 
more  than  one  of  his  pieces,  and  Rich  informs  us  that  ta 
became  acquainted  with  the  novels  he  translated  on  the 
uther  side  of  the  Alps  :  Daniel  goes  the  length  of  letting 
us  know  where  certain  of  his  sonnets  were  composed: 
Lodge  wrote  som<»  of  his  tracts  abroad  :  Nash  gives  us  the 
places  where  he  met  particular  persons;  and  his  friend 
Greene  admits  his  obligations  to  Italy  and  Spain,  whither 
be  had  travelled  early  in  life  in  pursuit  of  letters.  In  truth, 
at  that  period  and  afterwards,  there  seems  to  have  been  a 
prevailing  rage  for  foreign  travel,  and  it  extended  itself  to 
mere  actors,  as  well  as  to  poets  ;  for  we  know  that  William 
Kempe  was  in  Rome  in  160  11,  during  the  interval  between 
the  time  when,  for  some  unexplained  reason,  he  quitted  the 
company  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  players,  and  joined 
that  of  the  Lord  Admiral2.  Although  we  do  not  believe 
that  Shakespeare  ever  was  in  Italy,  we  admit  that  we  are 
without  evidence  to  prove  a  negative  ;  and  he  may  have 
gone  there  without  having  left  behind  him  any  distinct 
record  of  the  fact  At  the  date  to  which  we  are  now  ad- 

i  See  Mr.  Halliwell's  "  Ludus  Coventria;  "  (printed  for  the  Shake- 
speare Society),  p  410.  Rowley,  in  his  "  Search  for  Money,"  speaks 
of  this  expedition  by  Kempe,  who,  it  seems,  had  wagered  a  certain 
sum  of  money  that  he  would  go  to  Rome  and  back  in  a  given  num- 
ber of  days.  In  the  introduction  to  the  reprint  of  that  rare  tract  by 
the  Percy  Society,  it  is  shown  that  Kempe  also  danced  a  morris  in 
France.  These  circumstances  were  unknown  to  the  Rev.  A.  Dyce, 
•when  he  superintended  a  republication  of  Kempe's  "Nine  Days' 
Wonder,"  1600.  for  the  Camden  Society. 

'  It  is  a  new  fact  that  Kempe  at  any  time  quitted  the  company 
playing  at  the  Blackfriars  and  Globe  theatres  :  it  is  however  indis- 
putable, and  we  have  it  on  the  authority  of  Henslowe's  Diary,  where 
payments  are  recorded  to  Kempe,  and  where  entries  are  also  made  fof 
the  expenses  of  dresses  supplied  to  him  in  160:2.  These  memoranda 
Malone  overlooked,  when  the  MS.,  belonging  to  Dulwich  College, 
•was  in  his  hands;  but  they  may  be  very  important  with  reference 
' 


to  the  dates  of  some  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  and  the  particular  actors 
engaged   in   them:    they   also  account   for  the   non-appearanc 
Kempe's  name  in  the  royal  license  granted  in  May,  1603,  to  the 


gaged  in  them:  they  also  account  for  the  non-appearance  of 
empe's  name  in  the  royal  license  granted  in  May,  1603,  to  the  com- 
pany to  which  he  had  belonged.  Mr.  Dyce  attributes  the  omission 
of  Kempe's  name  in  that  instrument  to  his  death,  because,  in  the 
register  <.f  St.  Saviour's,  Southwark,  Chalmers  found  an  entry,  dated 
Nov.  2,  1(503,  of  the  burial  of  "William  Kempe,  a  m™."  There 
were  doubtless  many  men  of  the  common  names  of  William  Kempe  ; 
ind  the  William  Kempe,  who  had  acted  Dogberry,  Peter,  &c.,  was 
certainly  alive  in  16(1.3,  and  had  by  that  date  rejoined  the  Lord  Cham- 
berlain's servants,  then  called  "the  King's  players."  The  follow- 
ing unnoticed  memoranda  relating  to  him  are  extracted  from  Hens- 
lowe's Diary  : 

"Lent  unto  W»  Kempe,  the  10  of  Marche.  1602,  in  redy  mony, 

twentye  shillinges  for  his  necesary  uses,  the  some  of  xx". 
"Lent  unto  W">  Kempe,  the  22  of  Auguste,  160-2,  to  buye  buck- 

ram  to  make  a  payer  of  gyentes  hosse,  the  some  of  v« 
"Pd  unto  the  tyerman  for  mackynge  of  W">  Kempe's  sewt,  r.«i 
the  b>yes,  the  4  Septembr  1602,  some  of  viij".  b»." 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  C1U 

veiling  he  might  certainly  have  had  a  convenient  opportu- 
nity for  doing  so,  in  consequence  of  the  temporary  prohibi 
tiou  of  drariatic  performances  in  London. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

Death  of  Robert  Greene  in  1592,  and  publication  of  his 
"  Groutsworth  of  Wit,"  by  H.  Chettle.  Greene's  address 
to  Marlowe,  Lodge,  and  Peele,  and  his  envious  mention  of 
Shakespeare.  Shakespeare's  offence  at  Chettle,  and  the 
apology  of  the  latter  in  his  "  Kind-heart's  Dream."  The 
character  of  Shakespeare  there  given.  Second  allusion  by 
Spenser  to  Shakespeare  in  "  Colin  Clout's  come  home 
again,"  1594.  The  "  gentle  Shakespeare."  Change  in  the 
character  of  his  composition  between  1591  and  1594:  his 
"  Richard  II."  and  "  Richard  III." 

DURING  the  prevalence  of  the  infectious  malady  of  1692, 
although  not  in  consequence  of  it,  died  one  of  the  most  no- 
torious and  distinguished  of  the  literary  men  of  the  time, — 
Robert  Greene.  He  expired  on  the  3d  of  September,  1592, 
and  left  behind  him  a  work  purporting  to  have  been  writ- 
ten during  his  last  illness  :  it  was  published  a  few  months 
afterwards  by  Henry  Chettle,  a  fellow  dramatist,  under  the 
title  of  "  A  Groatsworth  of  Wit,  bought  with  a  Million  of 
Repentance,"  bearing  the  date  of  1592,  and  preceded  by  an 
address  from  Greene  "  To  those  Gentlemen,  his  quondam 
acquaintance,  who  spend  their  wits  in  making  Plays."  Here 
we  meet  with  the  second  notice  of  Shakespeare,  not  indeed 
by  name,  but  with  such  a  near  approach  to  it,  that  nobody 
can  entertain  a  moment's  doubt  that  he  was  intended.  It 
is  necessary  to  quote  the  whole  passage,  and  to  observe, 
before  we  do  so,  that  Greene  is  addressing  himself  particu- 
larly to  Marlowe,  Lodge,  and  Peele,  and  urging  them  to 
break  off  all  connexion  with  players' : — "  Base  minded  men 
all  three  of  you,  if  by  my  misery  ye  be  not  warned ;  for 
unto  none  of  you,  like  me,  sought  those  burs  to  cleave ; 
those  puppets,  1  mean,  that  speak  from  our  mouths,  those 
auticks  garnished  in  our  coloui-s.  Is  it  not  strange  that  I> 

1  We  have  some  doubts  of  the  authenticity  of  the  "  Groatsworth 
of  Wit,"  as  a  work  by  Greene.  Chettle  was  a  needy  dramatist,  and 
possibly  wrote  it  in  order  to  avail  himself  of  the  high  popularity  of 
Greene,  then  just  dead.  Falling  into  some  discredit,  in  consequence 
of  the  publication  of  il,  Chettle  re-asserted  that  it  was  by  Greene, 
but  he  admitted  that  the  manuscript  from  which  it  was  printed  waj 
in  his  own  hand- writing  :  this  circumstance  he  explained  by  stating 
that  Greene's  copy  was  so  illegible  that  he  was  obliged  to  transcribe 
it :  "it  was  ill- written."  says  Chettle.  '•  as  Greene's  hand  was  none 
of  the  best  ::l  and  therefore  'he  re-wrote  it. 


Civ  THE    LIFE    OF 

to  whom  they  all  have  been  beholding  ;  is  it  not  like  that 
you,  to  whom  they  have  all  been  beholding,  shall  (were  ye 
in  that  case  that  I  am  now)  be  both  of  them  at  once  for- 
saken ?  Yes,  trust  them  not ;  for  there  is  an  upstart  crow, 
beautified  with  our  feathers,  that  with  his  Tiger's  heart 
wrapp'd  in  a  player's  hide,  supposes  he  is  as  well  able 
to  bombast  our  blank-verse,  as  the  best  of  you :  and,  being 
an  absolute  Johannes  Fac-totum,  is,  in  his  own  conceit 
the  only  Shake-scene  in  a  country.  0 !  that  I  might  en- 
treat your  rare  wits  to  be  employed  in  more  profitable 
courses,  and  let  these  apes  imitate  your  past  excellence, 
and  never  more  acquaint  them  with  your  admired  inven- 
tions." 

The  chief  and  obvious  purpose  of  this  address  is  to  in- 
duce Marlowe,  Lodge,  and  Peele  to  cease  to  write  for  the 
stage  ;  and,  in  the  course  of  his  exhortation,  Greene  bitterly 
inveighs  against  "  an  upstart  crow,"  who  had  availed  him- 
self of  the  dramatic  labours  of  others,  who  imagined  him- 
self able  to  write  as  good  blank-verse  as  any  of  his  con- 
temporaries, who  was  a  Johannes  Fac-totum,  and  who,  in 
his  own  opinion,  was  "  the  only  SHAKE-SCEXE  in  a  country." 
All  this  is  clearly  levelled  at  Shakespeare,  under  the  pur- 
posely-perverted name  of  Shake-scene,  and  the  words, 
"  Tiger's  heart  wrapp'd  in  a  player's  hide,"  are  a  parody 
upon  a  line  in  a  historical  play,  (most  likely  by  Greene) 
"  0,  tiger's  heart  wrapp'd  in  a  woman's  hide,"  from  which 
Shakespeare  had  taken  his  "  Henry  VI."  part  iii.1 

From  lieuce  it  is  evident  that  Shakespeare,  near  the  end 
of  1592,  had  established  such  a  reputation,  and  was  so  im- 
portant a  rival  of  the  dramatists,  who,  until  he  came  for- 
ward, had  kept  undisputed  possession  of  the  stage,  as  to  ex- 
cite the  envy  and  eumity  of  Greene,  even  during  his  last  and 
fatal  illuess.  It  also,  we  think,  establishes  another  point  not 
hitherto  adverted  to,  viz.  that  our  great  poet  possessed  such 
variety  of  talent,  that,  for  the  purposes  of  the  company  of 
which  he  was  a  member,  he  could  do  anything  that  he 
might  be  called  upon  to  perform  :  he  was  the"  Johannes  Fac- 
totum of  the  association :  he  was  an  actor,  and  he  was  a 
writer  of  original  plays,  an  adapter  and  improver  of  those 
already  in  existence,  (some  of  them  by  Greene,  Marlowe, 
Lodge,  or  Peele)  and  no  doubt  he  contributed  prologues  or 
epilogues,  and  inserted  scenes,  speeches  or  passages  on  any 
temporary  emergency.  Having  his  ready  assistance,  the 
Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  required  few  other  contribu- 
tions from  rival  dramatists* :  Shakespeare  was  the  Johati' 

>  See  this  point  more   fully  illustrated   in  the  Introduction  tc 
*  Henry  VI.  "part  iii. 
»  At  this  date  I'eele  had  relinquis  hed  his  connection  with  the  com 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPKARE.  C? 

nes  Fac-totum  who  could  turn  his  hand  to  any  thing  con- 
nected with  his  profession,  and  who,  in  all  probability,  had 
thrown  men  like  Greene,  Lodge,  and  Pcele,  and  even  Mar- 
lowe himself,  into  the  shade.  In  our  view,  therefore,  the 
quotation  we  have  made  from  the  "  Groatsworth  of  Wit " 
proves  more  than  has  been  usually  collected  from  it. 

It  was  natural  and  proper  that  Shakespeare  should  take 
offence  at  this  gross  and  public  attack :  that  he  did  there  is 
no  doubt,  for  we  are  told  so  by  Chettle  himself,  the  avowed 
editor  of  the  "  Groatsworth  of  Wit :"  he  does  not  indeed 
mention  Shakespeare,  but  he  designates  him  so  intelligibly 
that  there  is  no  room  for  dispute.  Marlowe,  also,  and  not 
without  reason,  complained  of  the  manner  in  which  Greene 
had  spoken  of  him  in  the  same  work,  but  to  him  Chettle 
made  no  apologv,  while  to  Shakespeare  he  offered  all  the 
amends  in  his  power. 

His  apology  to  Shakespeare  is  contained  in  a  tract  called 
"  Kind-heart's"  Dream,"  which  was  published  without  date, 
but  as  Greene  expired  on  3d  September,  1592,  and  Chettle 
tells  us  in  "  Blind-heart's  Dream,"  that  Greene  died  "  about 
three  months "  before,  it  is  certain  that  "  Kind-heart's 
Dream  "  came  out  prior  to  the  end  of  1592,  as  we  now  cal- 
culate the  year,  and  about  three  mouths  before  it  expired, 
according  to  the  reckoning  of  that  period.  The  whole  pas- 
sage relating  to  Marlowe  and  Shakespeare  is  highly  inter- 
esting, and  we  therefore  extract  it  entire. — 

"  About  three  months  since  died  M.  Eobert  Greene,  leav- 
ing many  papers  in  sundry  booksellers'  hands  :  among  others 
his  Groatsworth  of  Wit,  in  which  a  letter,  written  to  divera 
play-makers,  is  offensively  by  one  or  two  of  them  taken  ;  and 
because  on  the  dead  they  cannot  be  avenged,  they  wilfully 
forge  in  their  conceits  a  living  author,  and  after  tossing  it  to 
and  fro,  no  remedy  but  it  must  light  on  rne.  How  I  have,  all 
the  time  of  my  conversing  in  printing,  hindered  the  bitter  in- 
veighing against  scholars,  it  hath  been  very  well  known  :  and 
how  in  that  I  dealt,  I  can  sufficiently  prove.  With  neither 
of  them,  that  take  offence,  was  I  acquainted ;  and  with  one 
of  them  [Marlowe]  I  care  not  if  I  never  be :  the  other,  [Shake- 
speare] whom  at  that  time  I  did  not  so  much  spare,  as  since  I 
wish  I  had,  for  that  as  I  have  moderated  the"  heat  of  living 
writers,  and  might  have  used  my  own  discretion  (especially 
in  such  a  case,  the  author  being 'dead)  that  I  did  not  I  am  as 
sorry  as  if  the  original  fault  had  been  my  fault;  because  my- 
self have  seen  his  demeanour  no  less  civil,  than  he  excellent 

pany  occupying  the  Blackfriars  theatre,  to  which  as  will  be  remem- 
bered, he  was  attached  in  15*9.  How  far  the  rising  genius  of  Shake- 
•peare,  and  his  increased  utility  and  importance,  had  contributed  to 
the  withdrawal  of  Peele,  and  to  his  junction  with  the  rival  associa- 
tion acting  under  the  name  of  the  Lord  Admiral,  it  is  impossible  to 
determine.  We  have  previously  adverted  to  this  point 
VOL.  I.  8 


CV1  THE    LIFE    OF 

in  the  quality  he  professes  :  besides,  divers  of  worship  have 
reported  his  uprightness  of  dealing,  which  argues  his  honesty, 
and  his  facetious  grace  in  writing,  that  approves  his  art.  For 
the  first,  [Marlowe]  whose  learning  I  reverence,  and  at  th« 
perusing  of  Greene's  book  struck  out  what  then  in  conscience 
I  thought  he  in  some  displeasure  writ,  or  had  it  been  true, 
yet  to  publish  it  was  intolerable,  him  1  would  wish  to  use  me 
no  worse  than  I  deserve." 

The  accusation  of  Greene  against  Marlowe  had  reference 
to  the  freedom  of  his  religious  opinions,  of  which  it  is  not 
necessary  here  to  say  more  :  the  attack  upon  Shakespeare 
we  have  already  inserted  and  observed  upon.  In  Chettle's 
apology  to  the  latter,  one  of  the  most  noticeable  points  is 
the  tribute  he  pays  to  our  great  dramatist's  abilities  as  an 
actor,  "  his  demeanour  no  less  civil,  than  he  excellent  in 
the  quality  he  professes  :"  the  word  "  quality  "  was  applied, 
at  that  date,  peculiarly  and  technically  to  acting,  and  the 
"  quality  "  Shakespeare  "  professed  "  was  that  of  an  actor. 
"  His  facetious  grace  in  writing1  "  is  separately  adverted  to 
and  admitted,  while  "  his  uprightness  of  dealing  "  is  attested, 
not  only  by  Chettle's  own  experience,  but  by  the  evidence  of 
"  divers  of  worship."  Thus  the  amends  made  to  Shake- 
speare for  the  envious  assault  of  Greene  shows  most  deci- 
sively the  high  opinion  entertained  of  him,  towards  the 
close  of  1592,  as  an  actor,  an  author,  and  a  man2. 


1  There  -were  not  separate  impressions  of  "  Kind-heart's  Dream  ' 
in  1592,  but  the  only  three  copies  known  vary  in  some  minute  par- 
ticulars :  thus,  with  reference  to  these  words,  one  impression  at  Ox- 
ford reads,  '•  hisfattous  grace  in  writing,"  and  the  other,  correctly,  ai 
•we  have  given  it.  "Kind-heart's  Dream"  has  been  re-printed,  by 
the  Percy  Society,  from  the  third  copy  in  the  King's  Library  at  the 


ford  reads, 

iven  it.     "Kind-h 

third  copy 
British  Museum. 

'  More  than  ten  years  afterwards,  Chettle  paid  another  tribute  to 
Shakespeare,  under  the  name  of  Melicert,  in  his  "England's  Mourn- 
ing Garment  :"  the  author  is  reproaching  the  leading  poets  of  the 
day,  Daniel,  Warner,  Chapman.  Jonson.  Drayton,  Sackville,  Dekker, 
&c.,  for  not  writing  in  honour  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  was  just 
dead  :  he  thus  addresses  Shakespeare  :— 

"  Nor  doth  the  silver-tongued  Melicert 

Drop  from  his  honied  Muse  one  sable  tear, 
To  mourn  her  death  that  graced  his  desert, 

And  to  his  lays  open'd  her  royal  ear. 
Shepherd,  remember  our  Elizabeth, 
And  sing  her  Rape,  done  by  that  Tarquin  death." 
This  passage  is  important,  with  reference  to  the  Royal  encourage- 
ent  given  to  Shakespeare,  in  consequence  of  the  approbation  of  hii 
plays  at  Court:  Elizabeth  had  "  graced  his  desert,"  and  "open'd  her 
royal  ear  "  to     his  lays."     Chettle  did  not  long  survive   the  publica- 
tion of      England's  Mourning  Garment  "  in  1GU3  :  he  was  dead  in 
160.,  as  he  is  spoken  of  in  Dekker's  "  Knight's  Conjuring,"  of  that 
year,  (there  is  an  impression  also  without  date,  and  possibly  a  few 
Months  earlier)  as  a  very  corpulent  ghost  in  the  Elysian  Fields.     H« 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CV11 

We  have  already  inserted  Spenser's  warm,  but  not  lew 
judicious  aud  well-merited,  eulogium  of  Shakespeare  in 
1591,  when  in  his  "Tears  of  the  Muses "  he  addresses  him 
as  Willy,  and  designates  him 


;  that  same  gentle  spirit,  from  whose  pen 


Large  streanies  of  honme  and  sweete  nectar  flowe." 

If  we  were  to  trust  printed  dates,  it  would  seem  that  in 
the  same  year  the  author  of  "  The  Faerie  Queeue "  gave 
another  proof  of  his  admiration  of  our  great  dramatist: 
we  allude  to  a  passage  in  "  Colin  Clout's  come  home  again," 
which  was  published  with  a  dedication  dated  27th  Decem- 
ber, 1591  ;  but  Maloue  proved,  beyond  all  cavil,  that  for 
1591  we  ought  to  read  1594,  the  printer  having  made  an  ex- 
traordinary blunder.  In  that  poem  (after  the  author  has 
spoken  of  many  living  and  dead  poets,  some  by  their  names, 
as  Alabaster  and  Daniel,  and  others  by  fictitious  and  fanci- 
ful appellations')  he  inserts  these  lines : — 

"  And  there,  though  last  not  least,  is  .^Etion  ; 

A  gentler  shepherd  may  no  where  be  found, 
Whose  Muse,  full  of  high  thought's  invention, 
Doth,  like  himself,  heroically  sound." 

Malone  takes  unnecessary  pains  to  establish  that  this  pas- 
Rage  applies  to  Shakespeare,  although  he  pertinaciously 
denied  that  "  our  pleasant  Willy  "  of  "  The  Tears  of  the 
Muses  "  was  intended  for  him.  We  have  no  doubt  on  either 
point ;  and  it  is  singular,  that  it  should  never  have  struck 
Maloue  that  the  same  epithet  is  given  in  both  cases  to  tho 

had  been  originally  a  printer,  then  hecame  a  bookseller,  and,  finally) 
a  pamphleteer  and  dramatist.  He  was,  in  various  degrees,  concerned 
in  about  forty  plays. 

1  Malone,  with  a  good  deal  of  research  and  patience,  goes  over  all 
the  pseudo-names  in  '•  Colin  Clout's  come  home  again, !>  applying 
each  to  poets  of  the  time  ;  but  how  uncertain  and  unsatisfactory  any 
attempt  of  the  kind  must  necessarily  be  may  be  illustrated  in  a 
single  instance.  Malone  refers  the  following  lines  to  Arthur  Golding  : 

Whose  careful  pipe  may  make  the  hearers  rue ; 
Yet  he  himself  may  rued  be  more  right, 

Who  sung  so  long,  until  quite  hoarse  he  grew." 

The  passage,  in  truth,  applies  to  Thomas  Churchyard,  as  he  himself 
informs  us  in  his  "Pleasant  Discourse  of  Court  and  Wars,"  1596  :  h« 
eomplains  of  neglect,  and  tells  us  that  the  Court  is 
"  The  platform  where  all  poets  thrive, 

The  stage,  where  time  away  we  drive, 

As  children  in  a  pageant  play." 

In  the  same  way  we  might  show  that  Malone  was  mistaken  as  t» 
other  poets  he  supposes  alluded  to  by  Spenser  ;  but  it  would  lead  ui 
too  far  out  of  our  way.  No  body  has  disputed  that  by  jEuon,  the 
author  of  "  Colin  Clout  "  meant  Shakespeare. 


CVlii  THE    LIFE    OP 

person  addressed,  and  that  epithet  one  which,  ai  a  sul»6' 
nut  nt,  date,  almost  constantly  accompanied  the  name  of 
Shakespearo.  In  "  The  Tears  of  the  Muses"  he  is  called  a 
"  gentle  spirit,"  and  in  "  Colin  Clout's  come  home  again  "  we 
are  told  that, 

"  A  gentler  shepherd  may  no  where  be  found." 
In  the  same  feeling  Ben  Jonson  calls  him  "  my  gentle  Shake- 
speare," in  the  noble  copy  of  verses  prefixed  to  the  folio  of 
1623,  so  that  ere  long  the  term  became  peculiarly  applied 
to  our  great  and  amiable  dramatist1.  This  coincidence  of 
expression  is  another  circumstance  to  establish  that  Spenser 
certainly  had  Shakespeare  in  his  mind  when  he  wrote  his 
"  Tears  of  the  Muses  "  in  1591,  and  his  "  Colin  Clout's  come 
home  again  "  in  1594.  In  the  latter  instance  the  whole  de- 
scription is  nearly  as  appropriate  as  in  the  earlier,  with  the 
addition  of  a  line,  which  has  a  clear  and  obvious  reference 
to  the  patronymic  of  our  poet :  his  Muse,  says  Spenser, 

"  Doth,  like  himself,  heroically  sound." 
These  words  alone  may  be  taken  to  show,  that  between 
1591  and  1594  Shakespeare  had  somewhat  changed  the 
character  of  his  compositions  :  Spenser  having  applauded 
him,  in  his  "  Tears  of  the  Muses,"  for  unrivalled  talents  in 
comedy,  (a  department  of  the  drama  to  which  Shakespeare 
had,  perhaps,  at  that  date  especially,  though  not  exclusively, 
devoted  himself)  in  his  "Colin  Clout"  spoke  of  the  "high 
thought's  invention,"  which  then  filled  Shakespeare's  muse, 
and  made  her  sound  as  "  heroically  "  as  his  name.  Of  his 
genius,  in  a  loftier  strain  of  poetry  than  belonged  to  comedy, 
our  great  dramatist,  by  the  year  1594,  must  have  given 
some  remarkable  and  undeniable  proofs.  In  1591  he  had 
perhaps  written  his  "  Love's  Labour  's  Lost "  and  "  Two 
Gentlemen  of  Verona;"  but  in  1594  he  had,  no  doubt,  pro- 
duced one  or  more  of  his  great  historical  plays,  his  "  Rich- 
ard IL"  and  "  Richard  III.,"  both  of  which,  as  before  re- 
marked, together  with  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  came  from  the 
press  in  1597,  though  the  last  in  a  very  mangled,  imperfect, 
and  unauthentic  state.  One  circumstance  may  be  mentioned, 
as  leading  to  the  belief  that  "  Richard  III."  was  brought 
out  in  1594,  viz.  that  in  that  year  an  impression  of  "The 
True  Tragedy  of  Richard  the  Third,"  (an  older  play  than 
that  of  Shakespeare)  was  published,  that  it  might  be 
bought  under  the  notion  that  it  was  the  new  drama  by  the 
most  popular  poet  of  the  day,  then  in  a  course  of  repre- 
sentation. It  is  most  probable  that  "  Richard  II."  had  been 
1  In  a  passage  we  have  already  extracted  from  Ben  Jonson's  "Dig 
HIM,"  he  mentions  Shakespeare's  "  gentle  expressions  ;"  but  h« 
(•  tner<  perhapi  .alher  referring  to  his  style  of  composition. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  C1X 

composed  beiore  "  Richard  ILL,"  and  to  either  or  botb  of 
them  the  lines, 

"  Whose  Muse,  full  of  high  thought's  invention, 
Doth,  like  himself,  heroically  sound," 

•will  abundantly  apply.  The  difference  in  the  character  of 
Spenser's  tributes  to  Shakespeare  in  1591  and  1594  was  oc- 
casioned by  the  difference  in  the  character  of  his  produc 

tions 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  dramas  written  by  Shakespeare  up  to  1594.  New  docu- 
ments relating  to  his  father,  under  the  authority  of  oil 
Thomas  Lucy,  Sir  Fulk  Greville,  &c.  Recusants  in  Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon.  John  Shakespeare  employed  to  value 
the  goods  of  H.  Field.  Publication  of  "  Venus  and  Ado- 
nis "  during  the  plague  in  1593.  Dedication  of  it,  and  of 
"  Lucrece,"  1594,  to  the  Earl  of  Southampton.  Bounty  of 
the  Earl  to  Shakespeare,  and  coincidence  between  the  date 
of  the  gift  and  the  building  of  the  Globe  theatre  on  the 
Bankside.  Probability  of  the  story  that  Lord  Southamp- 
ton presented  Shakespeare  with  100(W. 

HAVING  arrived  at  the  year  1594,  we  may  take  this  oppor- 
tunity of  stating  -which  of  Shakespeare's  extant  -works,  in 
our  opinion,  had  by  that  date  been  produced.  We  have  al- 
ivaiiv  mentioned  the  three  parts  of  "  Henry  VL,"  "  Titus 
Andronicus,"  "  The  Comedy  of  Errors,"  "  The  Two  Gentle- 
men of  Verona,"  and  "  Love's  Labour 's  Lost,"  as  in  being  in 
1591 ;  and  in  the  interval  between  1591  and  1594,  we  ap- 

frehend,  he  had  added  to  them  "  Richard  II."  and  "  Richard 
IL"     Of  these,  the  four  last  were  entirely  the  work  of 
our  great  dramatist :  in  the  others  he  more  or  less  availed 
himself  of  previous  dramas,  or  possibly,  of  the  assistance 
of  contemporaries. 

We  must  now  return  to  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  order  to 
advert  to  a  very  different  subject 

A  document  has  been  recently  discovered  hi  the  State 
Paper  Office,  which  is  highly  interesting  with  respect  to 
the  religious  tenets,  or  worldly  circumstances,  of  Shake- 
speare's father  in  15921.  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  Sir  Fulk  Gre- 
ville, Sir  Henry  Goodere,  Sir  John  Harrington,  and  four 
others,  having  been  appointed  commissioners  to  make  in- 
quiries "  touching  all  such  persons  "  as  were  "Jesuits,  semi,. 

i  We  have  to  express  our  best  thanks  to  Mr.  Lemon  for  directing  oui 
attention  to  this  manuscript,  and  for  supplying  us  with  an  anaiysir 
of  its  contents. 


OX  THE    LIFE    OF 

nary  priests,  fugitives,  or  recusantea,"  in  the  county  of  War 
•wick,  sent  to  the  Privy  Council  what  they  call  their  "  second 
certificate,"  on  the  25th  Sept  15921.  It  is  dirided  into 
different  heads,  according  to  the  respective  hundreds,  pa- 
rishes, Ac.,  and  each  page  is  signed  by  them.  One  of 
these  divisions  applies  to  Stratford-upon-Avon,  and  the  re- 
turn of  names  there  is  thus  introduced  : — 

"  The  names  of  all  sutch  Recusantes  as  have  benc  hearto- 
fore  presented  for  not  cominge  mouethlie  to  th« 
church,  according  to  her  Majesties  lawes,  and  yet  are 
thought  to  forbeare  the  church  for  debt,  and  for  feare 
of  processe,  or  for  some  other  worse  faultes,  or  for  age, 
sicklies,  or  iuipotencie  of  bodie." 

The  names  which  are  appended  to  this  introduction  are  the 
following : — 

"Mr.  John  Wheeler,  William  Bainton, 

John  Wheeler,  his  son,  Richard  Harrington, 

Mr.  John  Shackspere,  William  Flullen, 

Mr.  Nicholas  Barneshurste,  George  Bardolphe" :" 
Thomas  James,  alias  Gyles, 

and  opposite  to  them,  separated  by  a  bracket,  we  read  these 
words : — 

"  It  is  sayd,  that  these  last  nine  coome  not  to  churche  for 
feare  of  processe  of  debte." 

Here  we  find  the  name  of  "  Mr.  John  Shakespeare  "  either 
as  a  recusant,  or  as  "  forbearing  the  Church,"  on  account  of 
the  fear  of  process  for  debt,  or  on  account  of  "  age,  sickness, 
or  impoteucy  of  body,"  mentioned  in  the  introduction  to 
the  document  The  question  is,  to  which  cause  we  are  to 
attribute  his  absence ;  and  with  regard  to  process  for  debt, 
we  are  to  recollect  that  it  could  not  be  served  on  Sunday, 
BO  that  apprehension  of  that  kind  need  not  have  kept  him 
away  from  church  on  the  Sabbath.  Neither  was  it  likely 
that  his  son,  who  was  at  this  date  profitably  employed  in 
London  as  an  actor  and  author,  and  who  three  years  before 
was  a  sharer  in  the  Blackfriars  theatre,  would  have  allowed 
his  father  to  continue  so  distressed  for  money,  as  not  to  be 
able  to  attend  the  usual  place  of  divine  worship".  There 

>  The  first  certificate  has  not  been  found  in  the  State  Paper  Office, 
after  the  most  diligent  search. 

>  Hence  we  see  that  Shakespeare  took  two  names  in  his  "Henry 
V."  from  persons  who  bore  them  in  his  native  town.     Awdrey  wai 
al»o  a  female  appellation  known  in  Stratford,  as  appears  elsewhere  in 
the  same  document. 

'  By  an  account  of  rents  received  by  Thomas  Rogers,  Chamber- 
lain of  Stratford,  in  15S9,  it  appears  that  "John  Shakespeare  "  occu- 
(led  a  nous*  in  Bridge-street,  at  an  annual  rent  of  twelve  shillings, 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXI 

fore,  although  John  Shakespeare  was  certainly  in  great  pe 
cuuiary  difficulties  at  the  time  his  son  William  quitted 
Stratford,  we  altogether  reject  the  notion  that  that  SOLI  had 
permitted  his  father  to  live  in  comparative  want,  while  he 
himself  possessed  more  than  competence. 

"Age,  sickness,  and  impotency  of  body,"  may  indeed 
have  kept  John  Shakespeare  from  church,  but  upon  this 
point  we  have  no  information  beyond  the  fact,  that  if  he 
were  bom,  as  Malone  supposes,  in  1530,  he  was  at  this  date 
only  sixty  -two. 

With  regard  to  his  religious  opinions,  it  is  certain  that 
after  he  became  alderman  of  Stratford,  on  4th  July  1565, 
he  must  have  taken  the  usual  oath  required  from  all  pro- 
testants  ;  but,  according  to  the  records  of  the  borough,  it 
•was  not  administered  to  him  until  the  12th  September  fol- 
lowing his  election.  This  trifling  circumstance  perhaps 
hardly  deserves  notice,  as  it  may  have  been  usual  to  choose 
the  corporate  officers  at  one  court,  and  to  swear  them  in  at 
the  next.  So  far  John  Shakespeare  may  have  conformed 
to  the  requirements  of  the  law,  but  it  is  still  possible  that 
he  may  not  have  adopted  all  the  new  protestant  tenets,  or 
that  having  adopted  them,  like  various  other  conscientious 
men,  he  saw  reason  afterwards  to  return  to  the  faith  he  had 
abandoned.  We  have  no  evidence  on  this  point  as  regards 
him  ;  but  we  have  evidence,  as  regards  a  person  of  the 
name  of  Thomas  Greene,  (who,  although  it  seems  very  un- 
likely, may  have  been  the  same  man  who  was  an  actor  in 
the  company  to  which  Shakespeare  belonged,  and  who  was 
a  co-sharer  in  the  Blackfriars  Theatre,  in  1589)  who  is  de- 
scribed in  the  certificate  of  the  commissioners  as  then  of  a 
different  parish,  and  who,  it  is  added,  had  confessed  that  he 
had  been  "  reconciled  to  the  Romish  religion."  The  memo- 
randum is  in  these  terms  :  — 

"  It  is  here  to  be  remembred  that  one  Thomas  Greene,  of 
this  parisshe,  heretofore  presented  and  indicted  for  a  recu- 
sante,  hath  confessed  to  Mr.  Eobt.  Burgoyn,  one  of  the  com- 
missioners for  this  service,  that  auould  Freest  reconciled  him 
to  the  Komishe  religion,  while  he  was  prisoner  in  Worcester 
goale.  This  Greene  is  not  everie  day  to  be  t'ounde." 

On  the  same  authority  we  learn  that  the  wife  of  Thomas 
Greene  was  "  a  most  wilful  recusant  ;"  and  although  we  are 


nine  shiLinjs  of  which  had  been  paid.  Perhaps  (as  Malone  thought) 
this  -was  John  Shakespeare,  the  shoemaker  ;  because  the  father  of  the 
poet,  having  been  bailiff  and  head-alderman,  was  usually  styled  Mr. 
John  Shake^peare,  as  we  have  before  remarked.  However,  it  is  a  co- 
incidence to  be  noted,  that  the  name  of  John  Shakespeare  immediately 
follows  that  of  Henry  Fylde  or  Field,  whose  goods  Mr.  John  Shake 
ipeare  was  subsequently  employed  to  value  :  they  were  therefore  in 
all  probability  n  ?ighbours 


CXli  THE    LIFE    OF 

by  no  means  warranted  in  forming  even  an  opinit  n  on  th« 
question,  whether  Mary  Shakespeare  adhered  to  the  ancient 
faith,  it  is  indisputable,  if  we  may  rely  upon  the  represen- 
tation of  the  commissioners,  that  some  of  her  family  con- 
tinued Roman  Catholics.  In  the  document  under  consiJcra 
tion  it  is  stated,  that  Mrs.  Mary  Arden  and  her  servant 
John  Browne  had  been  presented  to  the  commissioners  aa 
recusants,  and  that  they  had  been  so  prior  to  the  date  of 
the  former  return  by  the  same  official  persons. 

In  considering  the  subject  of  the  faith  of  our  poet's  father 
we  ought  to  put  entirely  out  of  view  the  paper  upon  which 
Dr.  Drake  lays  some  stress1 ;  we  mean  the  sort  of  religious 
will,  or  confession  of  faith,  supposed  to  have  been  found, 
about  the  year  1770,  concealed  in  the  tiling  of  the  house 
John  Shakespeare  is  conjectured  to  have  inhabited.  It  was 
printed  by  Malone  in  1790,  but  it  obviously  merits  no  at- 
tention, and  there  are  many  reasons  for  believing  it  to  be 
spurious.  Malone  once  looked  upon  it  as  authentic,  but  he 
corrected  his  judgment  respecting  it  afterwards. 

Upon  the  new  matter  we  have  here  been  able  to  pro- 
duce, we  shall  leave  the  reader  to  draw  his  own  conclusion, 
and  to  decide  for  himself  whether  John  Shakespeare  for- 
bore church  in  1592,  because  he  was  in  fear  of  arrest,  be- 
cause he  was  "  aged,  sick,  and  impotent  of  body,"  or  be- 
cause he  did  not  accord  in  the  doctrines  of  the  protestant  faith. 

We  ought  not,  however,  to  omit  to  add,  that  if  John 
Shakespeare  were  infirm  in  1592,  or  if  he  were  harassed- 
and  threatened  by  creditors,  neither  the  one  circumstance 
nor  the  other  prevented  him  from  being  employed  in  Au- 
gust 1592  (in  what  particular  capacity,  or  for  what  precise 
purpose  is  not  stated)  to  assist  "  Thomas  Trussell,  gentle 
man,"  and  "  Richard  Sponer  and  others,"  in  biking  an  inven- 
tory of  the  goods  and  chattels  of  Henry  Feelde  of  Strat- 
ford, tanner,  after  his  decease.  A  contemporary  copy  of 
the  original  document  has  recently  been  placed  in  the  hands 
of  the  Shakespeare  Society  for  publication,  but  the  fact, 
and  not  the  details,  is  all  that  seems  of  importance  here". 


Shakspeaie  and  his  Times,"  vol.  i.  p.  8.  Dr.  Drake  seems  to 
the  opinion  that  John  Shakespeare  may  have  refrained  from 
ling  the  corporation  halls  previous  to  1530.  on  account  of  his 


. 

»  It  has  the  following  title  : — 

"A  true  and  perfect  Inventory  of  the  Goodes  and  Cattells,  which 
were  the  Goodes  and  C.-UteUs  of  Henry  Feelde,  late  of  Stretford-  ippon- 
Avon  in  the  County  of  Warwyke,  tanner,  now  decessed,  beynge  in 
Btretford  aforesayd,  the  21st  daye  of  Auguste,  Anno  Domini  15  »2.  By 
Thomas  Trussell,  Gentleman,  Mr.  John  Shaksper,  Richard  Sponer  and 
others. 

The  items  of  the  inventory  consist  of  nothing  but  an  enumeration  of 
:ld  bedsteads,  painted  cloths,  andirons,  &c.  of  no  curiosity  and  of 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXUJ 

In  the  heading  of  the  paper  our  poet's  father  is  called  "  Mr 
John  Shakespeare,"  and  at  the  end  we  find  his  name  at 
"  John  Shakespeare  senior :''  this  appears  to  be  the  only  in- 
stance in  which  the  addition  of  "  senior  "  was  made,  aud  the 
object  of  it  might  be  to  distinguish  him  more  effectually 
from  John  Shakespeare,  the  shoemaker  in  Stratford,  with 
whom,  of  old  perhaps,  as  in  modem  times,  he  was  now  and 
then  confounded.  The  fact  itself  may  be  material  in  de- 
ciding whether  John  Shakespeare,  at  the  age  of  sixty-two, 
was,  or  was  not  so  "  aged,  sick,  or  impotent  of  body  "  as  to 
be  uoable  to  attend  protestant  divine  worship.  It  certainly 
does  not  seem  likely  that  he  would  have  been  selected  for 
the  performance  of  such  a  duty,  however  trifling,  if  he  had 
been  so  apprehensive  of  arrest  as  not  to  be  able  to  leave 
his  dwelling,  or  if  he  had  been  very  infirm  from  sickness  or 
old  age. 

Whether  he  were,  or  were  not  a  member  of  the  protes- 
tant reformed  Church,  it  is  not  to  be  disputed  that  his  child- 
ren, all  of  whom  were  born  between  1558  and  1580,  were 
baptized  at  the  ordinary  and  established  place  of  worship 
in  the  parish.  That  his  son  William  was  educated,  lived, 
and  died  a  protestant  we  have  no  doubt1. 

We  have  already  stated  our  distinct  and  deliberate  opin- 
ion that  "  Venus  aud  Adonis  "  was  written  before  its  author 
left  his  home  in  Warwickshire.  He  kept  it  by  him  for  some 

little  value.  It  is  to  be  observed  that  Thomas  Trussel  was  an  attor- 
ney of  Stratford,  and  it  seems  likely  that  the  valuation  was  made  in 
relation  to  Field's  will.  The  whole  sum  at  which  the  goods  were 
estimated  was  £11.  14s.  Od.,  and  the  total,  with  the  names  of  the 
persons  making  the  appraisement,  is  thus  stated  at  the  end  of  the  ac- 

"  Some  totall— £14.  14s.  Oil. 
John  Shaksper  senior 
By  me  Richard  Sponer 
Per  me  Thomas  Trussel 

Script,  present." 

Of  course,  unless,  as  does  not  appear  in  this  coeval  copy,  John 
Shakespeare  made  his  mark,  the  document  must  have  been  subscribed 
by  some  person  on  his  behalf. 

i  Nearly  all  the  passages  in  his  works,  of  a  religious  or  doctrinal 
character,  have  been  brought  into  one  view  by  Sir  Frederick  B.Wat- 
son, K.  C.  H.,  in  a  very  elegant  volume,  printed  in  1843,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  theatrical  funds  of  our  two  great  theatres.  The  object 
of  the  very  zealous  and  amiable  compiler  was  to  counteract  a  notion, 
formerly  prevailing,  that  William  Shakespeare  was  aRoman  Catholic, 
and  he  has  done  so  very  effectually,  although  we  do  not  find  among 

it  forms  part  of  the  prophecy  of  Cranmer.  at  the  christening  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  in  "  Henry  VIII."  act  v.  sc.  4.  It  consists  of  but  five  ex- 
pressive words,  which  we  think  clearly  refer  to  the  comrleuon  of  th« 
Reformation  under  our  maiden  queen. 

"  In  her  days  •  *  •  * 
God  shall  be  truly  known." 


Oliv  THE    LIFE    OF 

years,  and  early  in  1593  seems  to  have  put  it  into  the  hands 
of  a  printer,  named  Richard  Field,  who,  it  has  been  said, 
was  of  Stratford,  and  might  be  the  son  of  the  Henry  Feelde, 
or  Field,  whose  goods  John  Shakespeare  was  employed  .to 
value  in  1592.  It  is  to  be  recollected  that  at  the  time 
«  Venus  and  Adonis  "  was  sent  to  the  press,  while  it  was  print- 
ing, and  when  it  was  published,  the  plague  prevailed  in 
London  to  such  an  excess,  that  it  was  deemed  expedient  by 
the  privy  council  to  put  a  stop  to  all  theatrical  perform- 
ances'. Shakespeare  seems  to  have  availed  himself  of  this 
interval,  in  order  to  bring  before  the  world  a  production  of 
a  different  character  to  those  which  had  been  ordinarily  seen 
from  his  pen.  Until  "  Venus  and  Adonis  "  came  out,  the 
public  at  large  could  only  have  known  him  by  the  dramas 
he  had  written,  or  by  those  which,  at  an  earlier  date,  he  had 
altered,  amended,  and  revived.  The  poem  came  from 
Field's  press  in  the  spring  of  1593,  preceded  by  a  dedica- 
tion to  the  Earl  of  Southampton.  Its  popularity  was  great 
and  instantaneous,  for  a  new  edition  of  it  was  called  for  in 
1594,  a  third  in  1596,  a  fourth  in  1600,  and  a  fifth  in  16022 : 
there  may  have  been,  and  probably  were,  intervening  im- 
pressions, which  have  disappeared  among  the  popular  and 
destroyed  literature  of  the  time.  We  may  conclude  that 
this  admirable  and  unequalled  production  first  introduced 
its  author  to  the  notice  of  Lord  Southampton ;  and  it  is 
evident  from  the  opening  of  the  dedication,  that  Shake- 
speare had  not  taken  the  precaution  of  ascertaining,  in  the 
first  instance,  the  wishes  of  the  young  nobleman  on  the  sub- 
ject Lord  Southampton  was  more  than  nine  years  younger 
than  Shakespeare,  having  been  born  on  6th  Oct  1573. 

We  may  be  sure  that  the  Dedication  of  "  Venus  and 
Adonis  "  was,  on  every  account,  acceptable,  and  Shakespeare 
followed  it  up  by  inscribing  to  the  same  peer,  but  in  a  much 
more  assured  and  confident  strain,  his  "  Lucrece "  in  the 

1  By  the  following  order,  derived  from  the  registers  : — 

"  That  for  avoyding  of  great  concourse  of  people,  which  causeth 
increase  of  the  infection,  it  were  convenient  that  all  Playes,  Bear- 
baytings,  Cockpitts,  common  Bowling-alleyes,  and  such  like  unne- 
cessarie  assemblies,  should  be  suppressed  during  the  time  of  infection, 
to?  that  infected  people,  after  their  long  keeping  in.  and  before  they 
be  cleared  of  their  disease  and  infection,  being  desirous  of  recreation 
us-  to  resort  to  such  assemblies,  where,  through  heate  and  thronge, 
they  infect  many  sound  personnes." 

In  consequence  of  the  virulence  and  extent  of  the  disorder.  Mich- 
aelmas term,  1593,  was  kept  at  St.  Alban's.  It  was  about  this  period 
that  Nash's  "Summer's  Last  Will  and  Testament"  was  acted  as  a 
private  entertainment  at  Croydon. 

»  Malone  knew  nothing  of  any  copy  of  1594.  The  impression  of 
502  was  printed  for  W.  Leake  ;  only  a  single  copy  of  the  editton  ha. 
•ome  down  to  our  day  :  it  had  been  entered  by  him  as  early  u 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CSV 

succeeding  >'  ear.  He  then  "  dedicated  hia  love "  to  his  ju- 
venile patron,  having  "a  warrant  of  his  honourable  dispo- 
sition" towards  his  "  pamphlet"  and  himself.  "Lucrece" 
was  not  calculated,  from  its  subject  and  the  treatment  of  it, 
to  be  so  popular  as  "  Venus  and  Adonis,"  and  the  first 
edition  having  appeared  from  Field's  press  in  1594,  a  re- 
print  of  it  does  not  seem  to  have  been  called  for  until  after 
the  lapse  of  four  years,  and  the  third  edition  bears  the  date 
of  1600. 

It  must  have  been  about  this  period  that  the  Earl  of 
Southampton  bestowed  a  most  extraordinary  proof  of  hia 
high-minded  munificence  upon  the  author  of  "  Venus  and 
Adonis  "  and  "  Lucrece."  It  was  not  unusual,  at  that  time 
and  afterwards,  for  noblemen,  and  others  to  whom  works 
were  dedicated,  to  make  presents  of  money  to  the  writers 
of  them ;  but  there  is  certainly  no  instance  upon  record  of 
such  generous  bounty,  on  an  occasion  of  the  kind,  as  that 
of  which  we  are  now  to  speak1 :  nevertheless,  we  have 
every  reliance  upon  the  authenticity  of  the  anecdote,  taking 
into  account  the  unexampled  merit  of  the  poet,  the  known 
liberality  of  the  nobleman,  and  the  evidence  upon  which 
the  story  has  been  handed  down.  Rowe  was  the  original 
narrator  of  it  in  print,  and  he  doubtless  had  it,  with  other 
information,  from  Betteiton,  who  probably  received  it  di- 
rectly from  Sir  William  Daveuant,  and  communicated  it  to 
Rowe.  If  it  cannot  be  asserted  that  Daveuaut  was  strictly 
contemporary  with  Shakespeare,  he  was  contemporary  with 
Shakespeare's  contemporaries,  and  from  them  he  must  have 
obtained  the  original  information.  Rowe  gives  the  state- 
ment in  these  words : — 

"  There  is  one  instance  so  singular  in  the  munificence  of 
this  patron  of  Shakespeare's  that,  if  I  had  not  been  assured 
that  the  story  was  handed  down  by  Sir  William  Davenant, 
who  was  probably  very  well  acquainted  with  his  [Shake- 
speare's] affairs,  I  should  not  have  ventured  to  have  inserted  ; 
that  my  Lord  Southampton  at  one  time  gave  him  a  thousand 
pounds  to  enable  him  to  go  through  with  a  purchase  which 
he  heard  he  had  a  mind  to." 

No  biographer  of  Shakespeare  seems  to  have  adverted 
to  the  period  when  it  was  likely  that  the  gift  was  made,  m 
combination  with  the  nature  of  the  purchase  Lord  South- 
ampton had  heard  our  great  dramatist  wished  to  com- 
plete, or,  it  seems  to  us,  they  would  not  have  thought 
the  tradition  by  any  means  so"  improbable  as  some  have 
held  it 

i  The  author  of  the  present  Life  of  Shakespeare  is  bound  to  mak« 
»ne  exception,  which  has  come  particularly  within  his  own  know! 
»dg«,  but  of  -which  he  does  not  feel  at  liberty  to  say  more. 


CXV1  THE    LIFE    OF 

The  disposition  to  make  a  worthy  return  for  the  dedica 
tions  of  "  Veuus  and  Adonis  "  and  "  Lucrece  "  would  of 
course  be  produced  in  the  miud  of  Lord  Southampton  by  the 
publication  of  those  poems  ;  and  we  are  to  recollect  that  it 
was  precisely  at  the  same  date  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
servants  entered  upon  the  project  of  building  the  Globe 
Theatre  on  the  Bankside,  not  very  far  to  the  west  of  the 
Southwark  foot  of  London  Bridge.  "  Venus  and  A  donis  " 
was  published  in  1593 ;  and  it  was  on  the  22ud  Dec.  in  that 
year  that  Richard  Burbage,  the  great  actor,  and  the  leader 
of  the  company  to  which  Shakespeare  was  attached,  signed 
a  bond  to  a  carpenter  of  the  name  of  Peter  Street  for  the 
construction  of  the  Globe.  It  is  not  too  much  to  allow  at 
least  a  year  for  its  completion ;  and  it  was  during  1594, 
while  the  work  on  the  Baukside  was  in  progress,  that  "  Lu- 
crece "  came  from  the  press.  Thus  we  see  that  the  build- 
ing of  the  Globe,  at  the  cost  of  the  sharers  in  the  Black- 
friars  theatre,  was  coincident  in  point  of  time  with  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  two  poems  dedicated  to  the  Earl  of  South- 
ampton. Is  it,  then,  too  much  to  believe  that  the  young 
and  bountiful  nobleman,  having  heard  of  this  enterprise ' 
from  the  peculiar  interest  he  is  known  to  have  taken  in  all 
matters  relating  to  the  stage,  and  having  been  incited  by 
warm  admiration  of  "  Venus  and  Adonis  "  and  "  Lucrece,'- 
in  the  fore-front  of  which  he  rejoiced  to  see  his  own  name 
presented  Shakespeare  with  1000/.,  to  enable  him  to  makt 
good  the  money  he  was  to  produce,  as  his  proportion,  for 
the  completion  of  the  Globe  ? 

We  do  not  mean  to  say  that  our  great  dramatist  stood  it 
need  of  the  money,  or  that  he  could  not  have  deposited  it 
as  well  as  the  other  sharers  in  the  Blackfriars1 ;  but  Lord 
Southampton  may  not  have  thought  it  necessarv  to  inquire, 
whether  he  did  or  did  not  want  it,  nor  to  consider  precisely 
what  it  had  been  customary  to  give  ordinary  versifiers,  who 
sought  the  pay  and  patronage  of  the  nobility.  Although 
Shakespeare  had  not  yet  reached  the  climax  of  his  excel- 
lence, Lord  Southampton  knew  him  to  be  the  greatest 
dramatist  this  country  had  yet  produced ;  he  knew  him  also 
to  be  the  writer  of  two  poems,  dedicated  to  himself,  with 
which  nothing  else  of  the  kind  could  bear  comparison ;  and 
iu  the  exercise  of  his  bounty  he  measured  the  poet,  by  his 
deserts,  and  "  used  him  after  his  own  honour  and  dignity," 
by  bestowing  upon  him  a  sum  worthy  of  his  title  and  char- 

1  Neither  are  -we  to  imagine  that  Shakespeare  would  have  to  con- 
tribute  the  whole  sum  of  iOOO/.  as  his  contribution  *o  the  cost  of  the 
Globe  :  probably  much  less  ;  but  this  was  a  consideration  which,  w« 
may  fe«:  assured,  never  entered  the  mind  of  a  man  like  Lord  South- 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXVll 

acter,  ar  d  which  his  wealth  probably  enabled  h.m  withouj 
difficulty  to  afford.  We  do  not  believe  that  there  has  been 
any  exaggeration  in  the  amount,  (although  that  is  more  pos- 
sible, than  that  the  whole  statement  should  have  been  a  fic- 
tion) and  Lord  Southampton  may  thus  have  intended  also 
to  indicate  his  hearty  good  -will  to  the  new  undertaking  of 
the  company,  and  his  determination  to  support  it1. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  opening  of  the  Globe  theatre,  on  the  Bankside,  in  1595. 
Union  of  Shakespeare's  associates  with  the  Lord  Admiral's 
players.  The  theatre  at  Newington  Butts.  Projected  repair 
and  enlargement  of  the  Blackrriars  theatre  :  opposition  by 
the  inhabitants  of  the  precinct.  Shakespeare's  rank  in  the 
company  in  1596.  Petition  from  him  and  seven  others  to 
the  Privy  Council,  and  its  results.  Repair  of  the  Blaekt'riars 
theatre.  Shakespeare  a  resident  in  Sonthwark  in  15U6: 
proof  that  he  was  so  from  the  papers  at  Duhvich  College. 

WE  have  concluded,  as  we  think  that  we  may  do  very  fairly, 
that  the  construction  of  the  new  theatre  on  the  Baukside, 
subsequently  known  as  the  Globe,  having  been  commenced 
soon  after  the  signature  of  the  bond  of  Burbage  to  Street, 
;>n  22d  Dec.  1593,  was  continued  through  the  year  1594 : 
\ve  apprehend  that  it  would  be  finished  and  ready  for  the 
.•eception  of  audiences  early  in  the  spring  of  1595.  It  was 
a  round  wooden  building,  open  to  the  sky,  while  the  stage 
was  protected  from  the  weather  by  an  overhanging  roof  of 
thatch.  The  number  of  persons  it  would  contain  we  have 
no  means  of  ascertaining,  but  it  was  certainly  of  larger  di- 
mensions than  the  Rose,  the  Hope  or  the  Swan,  three  other 
edifices  of  the  same  kind  and  used  for  the  same  purpose,  in 
the  immediate  vicinity.  The  Blackfriars  was  a  private 
theatre,  as  it  was  called,  entirely  covered  in.  and  of  smaller 
size ;  and  from  thence  the  company,  after  the  Globe  had 
been  completed,  was  in  the  habit  of  removing  in  the  spring, 
perhaps  as  soon  as  there  was  any  indication  of  the  setting 
in  of  fine  cheerful  weather". 

1  After  the  Globe  had  been  burned  down  in  June,  1613,  it  -was  re- 
built very  much  by  the  contributions  of  the  king  and  the  nobility. 
Lord  Southampton  may  have  intended  the  WOOL,  in  part,  as  a  con- 
tribution to  this  enterprise,  through  the  hands  of  an  individual  whom 
he  had  good  reason  to  distinguish  from  the  rest  of  the  company. 

2  We  know  that  thf  y  did  so  afterwards,  and  there  is  every  reason  to 
believe  that  such  was  their  practice  from  the  beginning.     Dr.  Kor- 
ean records,  in  his  Diary  in   the  Ashmolean  Museum,  that  he  saw 
"  Macbeth  "  at  the  Globe,  on  the  :>Uth  April.  1610  ;  "  Richard  11."  OB 


THE    LIFE    OF 

Before  the  building  of  the  Globe,  for  the  exclusive  UB« 
of  the  theatrical  servants  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  there 
can  be  little  doubt  that  they  did  not  act  all  the  year  round 
at  the  Blackfi  iai-s :  they  appear  to  have  performed  some- 
times at  the  Cm-tain  in  Shorediteh,  and  Richard  Burbage, 
at  the  time  of  his  death,  still  had  shares  iu  that  playhouse1. 
Whether  they  occupied  it  in  common  with  any  other  associa- 
tion is  not  so  clear ;  but  we  learn  from  Henslowe's  Diary,  that 
in  1594,  and  perhaps  at  an  earlier  date,  the  company  of 
which  Shakespeare  was  a  member  had  played  at  a  theatre 
in  Newington  Butts,  where  the  Lord  Admiral's  servants 
also  exhibited.  At  this  period  of  our  stage-history  the  per- 
formances usually  began  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon ; 
for  the  citizens  transacted  their  business  and  dined  early, 
and  many  of  them  afterwards  walked  out  into  the  fields 
for  recreation,  often  visiting  such  theatres  as  were  open 
purposely  for  their  reception.  Henslowe's  Diary  shows  that 
the  Lord  Chamberlain's  and  the  Lord  Admiral's  servants 
had  joint  possessiou  of  the  Newington  theatre  from  3d  June 
1594,  to  the  15th  November,  1596;  and  during  that  period 
various  pieces  were  performed,  which  in  their  titles  resemble 
plays  which  unquestionably  came  from  Shakespeare's  pen. 
That  none  of  these  were  productions  by  our  great  dramatist, 
it  is,  of  course,  impossible  to  affirm  ;  but  the  strong  proba- 
bility seems  to  be,  that  they  were  older  dramas,  of  which 
he  subsequently,  more  or  less,  availed  himself.  Among 
these  was  a  "Hamlet,"  acted  on  llth  of  June,  1594:  a 
"Taming  of  a  Shrew,"  acted  on  llth  June,  1594;  an  "  An- 
dronicus,"  acted  on  12th  June,  1594 ;  a  "  Venetian  Comedy," 
acted  on  12th  Aug.  1594  ;  a  "Caesar  and  Pompey,"  acted 
8th  Nov.  1594;  a  "Second  Part  of  Caesar,"  acted  26th 
June,  1595  ;  a  "  Henry  V.,"  acted  on  28th  Nov.  1595  ;  and 
a  "  Troy,"  acted  on  the  22d  June,  1596.  To  these  we  might 

the  30th  April,  1611,  and  "  The  Winter's  Tale  "  on  the  15th  May,  in 
the  same  year.     See  the  Introductions  to  those  several  plays. 
1  The  same  was  precisely  the  case  with  Pope,  the  celebrate 
dian,  who  died  in   Feb.  1004. 


p.  165. 

Richard  Burbage  lived  and  died  (in  1619)  in  Holy  well-street,  neai 
the  Curtain  theatre,  as  if  his  presence  were  necessary  for  the  superin- 
Umdence  of  the  concern,  although  he  had  been  an  actor  at  the  Black- 
friars  for  many  years,  and  at  the  Globe  ever  since  its  erection. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXJX 

add  a  "  Palamon  and  Arcite,"  (acted  on  17th  Sept  1594)  if 
we  suppose  Shakespeare  to  have  had  any  hand  in  writing 
«  The  Two  'Noble  Kinsmen ;"  and  an  "  Antony  and  Vallea," 
(acted  on  the  20th  June,  1595)  as  it  is  called  in  the  barbarous 
record,  which  may  possibly  have  had  some  connexion  with 
"  Antony  and  Cleopatra."  We  have  DO  reason  to  think  that 
Shakespeare  did  not  aid  in  these  representations,  although 
he  was  perhaps,  too  much  engaged  with  the  duties  of  au- 
thorship, at  this  date,  to  take  a  very  busy  or  prominent 
part  as  an  actor. 

The  fact  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  players  acted  at 
Newington  until  November,  1596,  may  appear  to  militate 
against  our  notion  that  the  Globe  was  finished  and  ready 
for  performances  in  the  spring  of  1595  ;  and  it  is  very  pos- 
sible that  the  construction  occupied  more  time  than  we  have 
imagined.  Malone  was  of  opinion  that  the  Globe  might  have 
been  opened  even  in  15941 ;  but  we  postpone  that  event 
until  the  following  year,  because  we  think  the  time  too 
short,  and  because,  unless  it  were  entirely  completed  early 
in  1594,  it  would  not  be  required,  inasmuch  as  the  company 
for  which  it  was  built  seem  to  have  acted  at  the  Blac-kfriars 
in  the  winter.  Our  notion  is,  that,  even  after  the  Globe 
was  finished,  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  now  and  then 
performed  at  Newington  in  the  summer,  because  audiences, 
having  been  accustomed  to  expect  them  there,  assembled 
for  the  purpose,  and  the  players  did  not  think  it  prudent  to 
relinquish  the  emolument  thus  to  be  obtained.  The  per- 
formances at  Newington,  we  presume,  did  not  however  in- 
terfere with  the  representations  at  the  Globe.  If  any  mem- 
bers of  the  company  had  continued  to  play  at  Newington 
after  November  1596,  we  should,  no  doubt,  have  found  some 
trace  of  it  in  Henslowe's  Diary. 

Another  reason  for  thinking  that  the  Globe  was  opened 
in  the  spring  of  1595  is,  that  very  soon  afterwards  the 
sharers  in  that  enterprise  commenced  the  repair  and  en- 
largement of  their  theatre  in  the  Blackfriars,  which  had 
been  in  constant  use  for  twenty  years.  Of  this  proceeding 
we  shall  have  occasion  to  say  more  presently. 

We  may  feel  assured  that  the  important  incident  of  the 
opening  of  a  new  theatre  on  the  Bankside,  larger  than  any 
that  then  stood  in  that  or  in  other  parts  of  the  town,  was 
celebrated  by  the  production  of  a  new  plav.  Considering 
bis  station  and  duties  in  the  company,  and  his  popularity  ;is 
a  dramatist,  we  may  be  Confident  also  that  the  new  play 
was  written  by  Shakespeare.  In  the  imperfect  state  of  oui 
information,  it  would  be  vain  to  speculate  which  of  hia 

1  Incuiry  into  the  Authenticity,  &c.  p.  87. 


/XX  -  THE    LIFE    OF 

dramas  was  brought  out  on  the  occasion  ;  but  if  the  readei 
will  refer  to  our  several  Introductions,  he  will  see  which  of 
the  plays  according  to  such  evidence  as  we  are  acquainted 
with,  may  appear  in  his  view  to  have  the  best  claim  to  the 
distinction.  Many  years  ago  we  were  strongly  inclined  to 
think  that  "  Henry  V."  was  the  piece  :  the  Globe  was  round, 
and  the  "  wooden  0  "  is  most  pointedly  mentioned  in  that 
drama ;  so  that  at  all  events  we  are  satisfied  that  it  was 
acted  ir.  that  theatre  :  there  is  also  a  nationality  about  the 
subject  and  a  popularity  iu  the  treatment  of  it,  which 
would  render  it  peculiarly  appropriate  ;  but  on  farther  re- 
flection and  information,  we  are  unwillingly  convinced  that 
"  Henry  V."  was  not  written  until  some  years  afterwards. 
We  frankly  own,  therefore,  that  we  are  not  in  a  condition 
to  offer  an  opinion  upon  the  question,  and  we  are  disposed, 
where  we  can,  to  refrain  even  from  conjecture,  when  we  have 
no  ground  on  which  to  rest  a  speculation. 

Allowing  about  fifteen  mouths  for  the  erection  and  com- 
pletion of  the  Globe,  Ave  may  believe  that  it  was  in  full 
operation  iu  the  spring,  summer,  and  autumn  of  1595.  On 
the  approach  of  cold  weather,  the  company  would  of  course 
return  to  their  winter  quarters  in  the  Blackfriars,  which 
was  enclosed,  lighted  from  within,  and  comparatively  warm. 
This  theatre,  as  we  have  stated,  at  this  date  had  been  in 
constant  use  for  twenty  years,  and  early  in  1596  the  sharers 
directed  their  atteutiou  to  the  extensive  repair,  enlargement, 
and,  possibly,  entire  re  construction  of  the  building.  The 
evideuce  that  they  entertained  such  a  design  is  very  deci- 
sive ;  and  we  may  perhaps  iufer,  that  the  prosperity  of 
their  new  experiment  at  the  Globe  encouniged  them  to 
this  outlay.  On  the  9th  Jan.  1596  (1595,  according  to  the 
then  mode  of  calculating  the  year)  Lord  Huusdon,  who  was 
Lord  Chamberlain  at  the  time,  but  who  died  about  six 
mouths  afterwards,  wrote  to  Sir  William  More,  expressing 
a  wish  to  take  a  house  of  him  in  the  Blackfriars,  and  adding 
that  he  had  heard  that  Sir  William  More  had  parted  with 
a  portion  of  his  own  residence  "  to  some  that  mean  to  make 
a  playhouse  of  it1." 

The  truth,  no  doubt,  was,  that  in  consequence  of  their  in- 
creased popularity,  owing,  we  may  readily  imagine,  in  a 
great  degree  to  the  success  of  the  plays  Shakespeare  had 
produced,  the  company  which  had  occupied  the  Blaekfriari 
theatre  found  that  their  house  was  too  small  for  their  audi- 
ences, and  wished  to  enlarge  it ;  but  it  appears  rather  sin- 
gular that  Lord  Huusdon,  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  should 

.Ji5'6  ''The  Lose'ey  Manuscripts."  by  A.  J.  Kempe,  Esq.,  9vo 
ISio,  p.  490;  a  very  curioiw  and  interesting  collection  of  origina 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXX1 

not  be  at  all  aware  of  the  intention  of  the  players  acting  un- 
der the  sanction  of  his  name  and  office,  ana  should  ouly  have 
heard  tli;it  some  persons  "  meant  to  make  a  playhouse  "  of 
part  of  Sir  William  More's  residence.  We  have  not  a  copy 
of  the  -whole  of  Lord  Hunsdon's  letter — only  an  abstract 
cf  it — which  reads  as  if  the  Lord  Chamberlain  did  not  even 
know  that  there  was  any  theatre  at  all  in  the  Blackfriars. 
Two  documents  in  the  State  Paper  Office,  and  a  third  pre- 
served at  Dulwich  College,  enable  us  to  state  distinctly 
what  was  the  object  of  the  actors  at  the  Blackfriars  in  1596. 
The  first  of  these  is  a  representation  from  certain  inhabitants 
of  the  precinct  in  which  the  playhouse  was  situated,  not 
ouly  against  the  completion  of  the  work  of  repair  and  en- 
largement, then  commenced,  but  against  all  farther  per- 
formances in  the  theatre. 

Of  this  paper  it  is  not  necessary  for  our  purpose  to  say 
more ;  but  the  answer  to  it,  on  the  part  of  the  association 
of  actors,  is  a  very  valuable  relic,  inasmuch  as  it  gives  the 
names  of  eight  players  who  were  the  proprietors  of  the 
theatre  or  its  appurtenances,  that  of  Shakespeare  being 
fifth  in  the  list.  It  will  not  have  been  forgotten,  that  in 
1589  no  fewer  than  sixteen  sharers  were  enumerated,  and 
that  then  Shakespeare's  name  was  the  twelfth ;  but  it  did 
not  by  any  means?  follow,  that  because  there  were  sixteen 
sharers  in  the  receipts,  they  were  also  proprietors  of  the 
building,  properties,  or  wardrobe:  in  1596  it  is  stated  that 
Thomas  Pope,  (from  whose  will  we  have  already  given  an 
extract)  Richard  Burbage,  John  Hemiugs,  (properly  spelt 
Hciuiuge)  Augustine  Phillips,  William  Shakespeare,  Wil- 
liam Kempe,  (who  withdrew  from  the  company  in  1601) 
William  Slye,  and  Nicholas  Tooley,  were  "  owners"  of  the 
theatre  as  well  as  sharers  in  the  profits  arising  out  of  the 
performances.  The  fact,  however,  seems  to  be  that  the  sole 
owner  of  the  edifice  in  which  plays  were  represented,  the 
proprietor  of  the  freehold,  was  Richard  Burbage,  who  in- 
herited it  from  his  father,  and  transmitted  it  to  his  sons  ;  but 
as  a.  body,  the  parties  addressing  the  privy  council  (for  the 
*  petition  "  appears  to  have  been  sent  thither)  might  in  a 
certain  sense  call  themselves  owners  of.  as  well  as  sharera 
hi.  the  Blackfriars  theatre.  We  insert  the  document  in  a 
note,  observing  merely,  that  like  many  others  of  a  similar 
kind,  it  is  without  signatures1. 

•  "  To  the  right  honourable  the  Lords  of  her  Majesties  most  hou- 
&  liable  Privie  Councell. 

'•The  humble  petition  of  Thomas  Tope,  Richard  Burbage,  John 
Hemings.  Augustine  Phillips.  William  Shakespeare,  William  Kemp*, 
William  Slye,  Nicholas  Tooley,  and  others,  se.rvaunts  to  the  Right 
Honorable  the  Lord  Chamberlaine  to  her  Majestic'. 

"  Sheweth  most  humbly,  that  your  Petitioners  are  owners  an^ 
VOL.  I.  9 


THE  LIFE  OF 

Th«  date  of  the  year  when  tliis  petition  of  the  actors  wat 
presented  to  the  privy  council  is  ascertained  from  that  of 
the  remonstrance  of  the  inhabitants  which  had  rendered  it 
necessary,  viz.  1596  ;  but  by  another  paper,  among  the  the 
atrical  relics  of  Alleyn  and  Henslowe  at  Dulwich  College, 
we  are  enabled  to  show  that  both  the  remonstrance  and  the 
petition  were  anterior  to  May  in  that  year.  Henslowe 
(step-father  to  Alleyn's  wife,  and  Alleyn's  partner)  seems 
always,  very  prudently,  to  have  kept  up  a  good  understand- 
ing with  the  officers  of  the  department  of  the  revels ;  and 
,*n  3rd  May,  1596,  a  person  of  the  name  of  Veale,  servant  to 
Edmond  Tylney,  master  of  the  revels,  wrote  to  Heuslowe,  in- 
forming him  (as  of  course  he  must  take  an  interest  in  the  re- 
sult) that  it  had  been  decided  by  the  privy  council,  that  the 
Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  should  be  allowed  to  complete 
their  repairs,  but  not  to  enlarge  their  house  in  the  Blackfriars ; 
the  note  of  Veale  to  Henslowe  is  on  a  small  slip  of  paper, 
very  clearly  written ;  and  as  it  is  short,  we  here  insert  it : — 

"  Mr.  Hinslowe.  This  is  to  enfpurme  you  that  my  Mr.,  the 
Maistcr  of  the  revelles,  hath.  rec.  from  the  LI.  of  the  couusell 

players  of  the  private  house,  or  theatre,  in  the  precinct  and  libertie  of 
the  Blackfriers,  which  hath  beene  for  many  yeares  used  and  occu- 
pied for  the  playing  of  tragedies,  comraedies,  histories,  enterludes, 
and  playes.  That  the  same,  by  reason  of  its  having  beene  so  long 
built,  hath  fallen  into  great  decay,  and  that  besides  the  reparation 
thereof,  it  hath  beene  found  necessarie  to  make  the  same  more  con- 
venient for  the  entertainment  of  auditories  coming  thereto.  That 

which  they  have  justly  and  honestly  gained  by  the  exercise  of  their 
qualitie  of  stage-players  ;  but  that  certaine  persons  (some  of  them  of 
honour)  inhabitants  of  the  said  precinct  and  libertie  of  the  Black- 
friers  have,  as  your  Petitioners  are  informed,  besought  your  honour- 
able Lordshipps  not  to  permitt  the  said  private  house  any  longer  to 
remaine  open,  but  hereafter  to  be  shut  up  and  closed,  to  the  manifest 
and  great  injurie  of  your  petitioners,  who  have  no  other  meanes 
whereby  to  maintain  their  wives  and  families,  but  by  the  exercise 
of  their  qualitie  as  they  have  heretofore  done.  Furthermore,  thai  in 
xhe  summer  season  your  Petitioners  are  able  to  playe  at  their  new 
Vuilt  house  on  the  Bankside  calde  the  Globe,  but  that  in  the  winter 
they  are  compelled  to  come  to  the  Blackfriers;  and  if  your  honorable 
Lordshipps  give  consent  unto  that  which  is  prayde  against  your  Pe- 
titioners, thay  will  not  onely,  while  the  winter  endures,  loose  the 
meanes  whereby  they  now  support  them  selves  and  their  families, 
out  be  unable  to  practise  themselves  in  anie  playes  or  enterludes. 
when  calde  upon  to  performe  for  the  recreation  and  solace  of  her 
Ma"«  and  her  honorable  Court,  as  they  have  beene  heretofore  accus- 
tomed. The  humble  prayer  of  your  Petitioners  therefore  is.  that 
your  honorable  Lordshipps  grant  permission  to  finish  the  reparations 
and  alterations  they  have  begun  ;  and  as  your  Petitioners  have  hitherto 
boen  well  ordered  in  their  behaviour,  and  just  in  their  dealings,  that 
your  honorable  Lordsiiipps  will  not  inhibit  them  from  acting-  at  theil 
above  nainde  private  house  in  the  piecinct  and  libertie  of  the  Black- 
friers,  and  your  Petitioners  as  in  dut.e  most  bounden,  will  ever  praf 
»cr  the  increasing  honor  and  happiness  of  your  honorable  L'  rdshipr*.' 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXX1U 

order  that  the  L.  Cha  nberlen's  servauntes  shall  not  be  dis- 
tourbfd  at  the  Blacktfryars,  according  with  their  petition  in 
that  behalt'e,  but  leave  shall  be  given  unto  theyrn  to  make 
good  the  decaye  of  the  saiie  House,  butt  not  to  make  the 
same  larger  then  in  former  tyine  liatb  bene.  From  thofflce 
of  the  Kevelles.  this  3  of  maie,  1596.  "  EICH.  VEALE." 

Thus  the  whole  transaction  is  made  clear :  the  company, 
soon  after  the  opening  of  the  Globe,  contemplated  the  repair 
and  enlargement  of  the  Blackfriara  theatre  :  the  inhabitants 
of  the  precincts  objected  not  only  to  the  repair  and  enlarge- 
ment, but  to  any  dramatic  representations  in  that  part  of 
the  town :  the  company  petitioned  to  be  allowed  to  carry 
out  their  design,  as  regarded  the  restoration  of  the  edifice, 
and  the  increase  of  its  size ;  but  the  privy  council  consented 
only  that  the  building  should  be  repaired.  We  are  to  con- 
clude, therefore,  that  after  the  repairs  were  finished,  the 
theatre  would  hold  no  more  spectators  than  formerly  ;  but 
that  the  dilapidations  of  time  were  substantially  remedied, 
we  are  sure  from  the  fact,  that  the  house  continued  long 
afterwards  to  be  employed  for  the  purpose  for  which  it  had 
been  originally  constructed1. 

What  is  of  most  importance  in  this  proceeding,  with  re- 
ference to  Shakespeare,  is  the  circumstance  upon  which  we 
have  already  remarked;  that  whereas  his  name,  in  1589, 
stood  twelfth  in  a  list  of  sixteen  sharers,  in  1596  it  was  ad- 
vanced to  the  fifth  place  in  an  enumeration  of  eight  persons, 
who  termed  themselves  "  owners  and  players  of  the  private 
house,  or  theatre,  in  the  precinct  and  liberty  of  the  Black- 
friars."  It  is  not  difficult  to  suppose  that  the  speculation 
at  the  Globe  had  been  remarkably  successful  in  its  first 
season,  and  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  had  there- 
by been  induced  to  expend  mouey  upon  the  Blackfriars,  in 
order  to  render  it  more  commodious,  as  well  as  more  capa- 
cious, under  the  calculation,  that  the  receipts  at  the  one 
house  during  the  winter  would  be  greater  in  consequence  of 
their  popularity  at  the  other  during  the  summer. 

Where  Shakespeare  had  residec  from  the  time  when  he 
first  came  to  London,  until  the  period  of  which  we  are  now 
speaking,  we  have  no  information  •  but  in  July,  1596,  he 
was  li viug  in  Southwark,  perhaps  to  be  close  to  the  scene  of 
action,  and  more  effectually  to  superintend  the  performances 
at  the  Globe,  which  were  continued  through  at  least  seven 
months  of  the  year.  We  know  not  whether  he  removed 
there  shortly  before  the  opening  of  the  Globe,  or  whether 
from  the  first  it  had  been  his  usual  place  of  abode ;  but 
Malone  tells  us,  "  From  a  paper  now  before  me,  which  for- 

1  The  ultimate  fate  of  this  playhouse,  and  of  others  existing  at  th« 
»ame  time,  will  be  found  fated  in  a  subsequent  part  of  our  memoir 


CXX1V  THE    LIFE    OF 

merly  belonged  to  Edward  Alleyn,  the  player,  our  p*  et  ap- 
pears to  have  lived  iu  Southwark,  near  the  Bear-garden,  lu 
1596'."  He  gives  us  no  further  insight  into  the  contents  of 
the  paper ;  but  he  probably  referred  to  a  small  slip,  bor- 
rowed, with  other  relics  of  a  like  kind,  from  Dulwich  Col- 
lege, many  of  which  were  returned  after  his  death.  Among 
those  returned  seems  to  have  been  the  paper  in  question, 
which  is  valuable  only  because  it  proves  distinctly,  that 
our  great  dramatist  was  an  inhabitant  of  Southwark  very 
soon  after  the  Globe  was  in  operation,  although  it  by  no 
means  establishes  that  he  had  not  been  resident  there  long 
before.  We  subjoin  it  exactly  as  it  stands  in  the  original : 
the  hand-writing  is  ignoraut,'the  spelling  peculiar,  and  it 
was  evidently  merely  a  hasty  and  imperfect  memorandum. — 

"Inhabitantes  of  Sowtherk  as  have  complaned,  this  —  of 
Jully,  1596. 

Mr  Markis 

Mr  Tuppin 

Mr  Laugorth 

Wilsone  the  pyper 

Mr  Barett 

Mr  Shuksper 

Phellipes 

Tomson 

Mother  Golden  the  baude 

Naggea 

Fill  pott  and  no  more,  and  soe  well  ended." 

This  is  the  whole  of  the  fragment,  for  such  it  appears  to 
be,  and  without  farther  explanation,  which  we  have  not 
been  able  to  find  in  any  other  document,  in  the  depository 
where  the  above  is  preserved  or  elsewhere,  it  is  impossible 
to  understand  more,  than  that  Shakespeare  and  other  in- 
habitants of  Southwark  had  made  some  complaint  in  July 
1596,  which,  we  may  guess,  was  hostile  to  the  wishes  of  the 
writer,  who  congratulated  himself  that  the  matter  was  se 
well  at  an  end.  Some  of  the  parties  named,  including  our 
great  dramatist,  continued  resident  iu  Southwark  long  after- 
wards, as  we  shall  have  occasion  iu  its  proper  place  to 
show.  The  writer  seems  to  have  been  desirous  of  speaking 
derogatorily  of  all  the  persons  he  enumerates,  but  still  he 
designates  some  as  "  Mr.  Markis,  Mr.  Tuppiu,  Mr.  Langorth, 
Mr.  Barett,  and  Mr.  Shaksper;"  but  "  Phellipes2,  Tomson 

•  "Inquiry  into  the  Authenticity,"  &c.  p.  215.  He  seems  to  have 
reserved  particulars  for  his  "  Life  of  Shakespeare,"  which  he  Jid  not 
!ive  to  complete,  and  which  was  imperfectly  finished  by  Boswell. 

»  This  may 


WILLIAM    SHAKES1EARE.  C.YX^ 

Nagges,  and  Fillpott,"  he  only  mentions  by  their  surnames, 
while  he  adds  the  -words  "  the  pyper  "  and  "  the  baude  "  aftei 
"  Wilsone1 "  and  "  Mother  Golden,"  probably  to  indicate  that 
any  complaint  from  them  ought  to  have  but  little  weight.  All 
that  we  certainly  collect  from  the  memorandum  is  what  M;i- 
loue  gathered  from  it,  that  in  July  1596,  (Malone  only  gives 
the  year,  and  adds  "  near  the  Bear-garden,"  which  we' do  not 
find'confirmed  by  the  contents  of  the  paper)  hi  the  middle 
of  what  we  have  considered  the  second  season  at  the  new 
theatre  called  the  Globe,  Shakespeare  was  an  inhabitant  of 
Southwark.  That  he  had  removed  thither  for  the  sake  of 
convenience,  and  of  being  nearer  to  the  spot,  is  not  unlikely, 
but  we  have  no  evidence  upon  the  point :  as  there  is  reason 
to  believe  that  Burbage,  the  principal  actor  at  the  Globe, 
lived  in  Holy  well  Street,  Shoreditch,  near  the  Curtain  play- 
house'2, such  an  arrangement,  as  regards  Shakespeare  and  the 
Globe,  seems  the  more  probable. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Chancery  suit  in  1597  by  John  Shakespeare  and  his  wife  to 
recover  Asbyes  :  their  bill ;  the  answer  of  John  Lambert; 
and  the  replication  of  John  and  Mary  Shakespeare.  Proba- 
ble result  of  the  suit.  William  Shakespeare's  annual  visit 
to  Stratford.  Death  of  his  son  Hamuet  in  1596.  General 
scarcity  in  England,  and  its  effects  at  Stratford.  The  quan- 
tity of  corn  in  the  hands  of  William  Shakespeare  and  his 
neighbours  in  February,  1598.  Ben  Jonson's  "Every  Man 
in  his  Humour,"  and'probable  instrumentality  of  Sliakt- 
speare  in  the  original  production  of  it  on  the  stage.  Hens- 
lowe's  letter  respecting  the  death  of  Gabriel  Spenser. 

WE  have  already  mentioned  that  in  1578  John  Shakespeare 
and  his  wife,  in  order  to  relieve  themselves  from  pecuniary 
embarrassment,  mortgaged  the  small  estate  of  the  latter 
called  Asbyes,  at  Wilmecote  in  the  parish  of  Agton  Cant- 
proved  on  the  13th  May,  1605.  Among  otl.er  bequests  tc  his  friends 
and  :-  fellows,'1  he  gave  '•  a  thirty-shillings  piece  of  gold  ''  to  William 

earliest  notice  we  have  of  him  is  prior  to  the  death  of  Tarlton  in 
1588. 

1  It  is  just  possible  that  by  "  Wilsone  the  pype'  "  the  writer  meant 
to  point  out  '-Jack  Wilson."  the  singer  of  "  Sigh  no  more,  ladies," 
in  "Much  ado  about  Nothing,"  who,  might  te,  and  probably  wa,».  a 
player  upon  some  wind  instrument.  See  also  the  ';  Memoirs  ol  Ed- 
ward Alleyn,''  (printed  by  the  Shakespeare  Society)  p.  153,  for  a  no- 
tice of  "  Mr.  Wilson,  the  singer,"  when  he  dined  on  one  occatiom 
with  the  founder  of  Dulwich  College. 

a  Malone's  Shakspeare  by  Boswell.  iii.  p  182. 


THE    LIFE    OF 

lowe,  to  Edmund  Lambert,  for  the  sum  of  407.  A§  it  coi> 
sisted  of  nearly  sixty  acres  of  land,  with  a  dwelling-house 
it  must  have  been  worth,  perhaps,  three  times  the  sum  ad- 
vanced, and  by  the  admission  of  all  parties,  the  mortgagers 
were  again  to  be  put  in  possession,  if  t'usy  repaid  the  money 
borrowed  on  or  before  Michaelmas-day,  1580.  According  to 
the  assertion  of  John  and  Mary  Shakespeare,  they  tendered 
the  40/.  on  the  day  appointed,  but  it  was  refused,  unless 
other  moneys,  which  they  owed  to  the  mortgagee,  were  re- 
paid at  the  same  time.  Edmund  Lambert  (perhaps  the 
father  of  Edward  Lambert,  whom  the  eldest  sister  of  Mary 
Shakespeare  had  married)  died  in  1586,  in  possession  of 
Asbyes,  and  from  him  it  descended  to  his  eldest  son,  John 
Lambert,  who  continued  to  withhold  it  in  1597  from  those 
who  claimed  to  be  its  rightful  owners. 

In  order  to  recover  the  property,  John  and  Mary  Shake- 
speare filed  a  bill  in  chancery,  on  24th  Nov.  1597,  against 
John  Lambert  of  Barton-on-the-Heath,  in  which  they  al- 
leged the  fact  of  the  tender  and  refusal  of  the  40/.  by  Ed- 
mund Lambert,  who,  wishing  to  keep  the  estate,  no  doubt 
coupled  with  the  tender  a  condition  not  included  in  the  deed. 
The  advance  of  other  moneys,  the  repayment  of  which  was 
required  by  Edmund  Lambert,  was  not  denied  by  John  and 
Mary  Shakespeare,  but  they  contended  that  thev  had  done 
all  the  law  required,  to  entitle  them  to  the  restoration  of 
their  estate  of  Asbyes :  in  their  bill  they  also  eet  forth,  thai; 
John  Lambert  was  "  of  great  wealth  and  ability,  and  well 
friended  and  allied  amongst  gentlemen  and  freeholders  of 
the  country,  in  the  county  of  Warwick,"  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  were  "  of  small  wealth,  and  very  few  friends  and 
alliance  in  the  said  county."  The  answer  of  John  Lambert 
merely  denied  that  the  40/.  had  been  tendered,  in  conse- 
quence of  which  he  alleged  that  his  father  became  "  law- 
tully  and  absolutely  seised  of  the  premises,  in  his  demesne 
as  of  fee.''  To  this  answer  John  and  Mary  Shakespeare 
put  in  a  replication,  reiterating  the  assertion  of  the  tender 
and  refusal  of  the  40/.  on  Michaelmas-day,  1580,  and  pray- 
ing Lord  Keeper  Egerton  (afterwards  Baron  Ellesmere)  to 
decree  in  their  favour  accordingly. 

If  any  decree  were  pronounced,  it  is  singular  that  no 
trace  of  it  should  have  been  fweserved  either  in  the  records 
of  the  Court  of  Chancery,  or  among  the  papers  of  Lord 
Ellesmere ;  but  such  is  the  fact,  and  the  inference  is,  that 
the  suit  was  settled  by  the  parties  without  proceeding  to 
this  extremity.  We  can  have  little  doubt  that  the  bill  had 
been  filed  with  the  concurrence,  and  at  the  instance,  of  our 
great  dramatist,  who  at  this  date  was  rapidly  acquiring 
wealth,  although  his  fathe-  and  mother  put  forward  in  their 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXAVU 

bill  their  own  poverty  and  powerlessness,  compared  with, 
the  riches  and  influence  of  their  opponent  "William  Shake- 
speare must  have  been  aware,  that  during  the  last  seven- 
teen years  his  father  and  mother  had  been  deprived  of  their 
right  to  Asbyes  :  in  all  probability  his  money  was  employed 
in  order  to  commence  and  prosecute  the  suit  in  Chancery : 
and  unless  we  suppose  them  to  have  stated  and  re-stated  a 
deliberate  falsehood,  respecting  the  tender  of  the  40/.,  it  is 
very  clear  that  they  had  equity  on  their  side.  We  think, 
therefore,  we  may  conclude  that  John  Lambert,  finding 
he  had  no  chance  of  success,  relinquished  his  claim  to  Asbyes, 
perhaps  on  the  payment  of  the  40/.  and  of  the  sums  which 
his  father  had  required  from  John  and  Mary  Shakespeare 
in  1580,  and  which  in  1597  they  did  not  dispute  to  have 
been  due. 

Among  other  matters  set  forth  by  John  Lambert  in  his 
answer  is,  that  the  Shakespeares  were  anxious  to  regain 
possession  of  Asbyes,  because  the  current  lease  was  near 
its  expiration,  and  they  hoped  to  be  able  to  obtain  an  im- 
proved rent.  Supposing  it  to  have  been  restored  to  their 
hands,  the  fact  may  be  that  they  did  not  let  it  again,  but 
cultivated  it  themselves ;  and  we  have  at  this  period  some 
new  documentary  evidence  to  produce,  leading  to  the  belief 
that  our  poet  was  a  land-owner  J0t  at  all  events  a  land-oc- 
cupier, to  some  extent  iu  the  neighbourhood  of  Stratford- 
upon-Avon. 

Aubrey  informs  us,  (and  there  is  not  only  no  reason  for 
disbelieving  his  statement,  but  every  ground  for  giving  it 
credit)  that  William  Shakespeare  was  "  wont  to  go  to  his 
native  country  once  a  year."  Without  seeking  for  any  evi- 
dence upon  the  question,  nothing  is  more  natural  or  proba- 
ble ;  and  when,  therefore,  he  had  acquired  sufficient  pro- 
perty, he  might  be  anxious  to  settle  his  family  comfortably 
and  independently  in  Stratford.  We  must  suppose  that  his 
father  and  mother  were  mainly  dependent  upon  him,  not- 
withstanding the  recovery  of  the  small  estate  of  the  latter 
at  Wilmecote ;  and  he  may  have  employed  his  brother 
Gilbert,  who  was  two  years  and  a  half  younger  than  him- 
self, and  perhaps  accustomed  to  agricultural  pursuits,  to 
look  after  his  farming  concerns  in  the  country,  while  he 
himself  was  absent  superintending  his  highly  profitable, 
theatrical  undertakings  in  London.  In  1595,  1596,and  1597, 
our  poet  must  have  been  in  the  receipt  of  a  considerable 
and  an  increasing  income :  he  was  part  proprietor  of  the 
BlacktViars  and  the  Globe  theatres,  b  jth  excellent  specula- 
tions ;  he  was  an  actor,  doubtless  earning  a  good  salary,  in- 
dependently of  the  proceeds  of  his  sliares;  and  he  was  the 
aaost  popular  and  applauded  dramatic  poet  of  the  day.  ID 


CXXVlH  THE    LIFE    OF 

the  summer  he  might  find,  or  make,  leisure  to  visit  his  na 
tive  town,  and  we  may  be  tolerably  sure  that  he  was  ther« 
in  August,  1596,  when  he  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  his 
only  son  Hamnet,  one  of  the  twins  bom  early  in  the  spring 
of  1585  :  the  boy  completed  his  eleventh  year  in  February, 
1596,  so  that  his  death  in  August  following  must  have  been 
It  very  severe  trial  for  his  parents1. 

Stow  informs  us,  that  in  1596  the  price  of  provisions  in 
England  was  so  high,  that  the  bushel  of  wheat  was  sold  for 
six,  seven,  and  eight  shillings2 :  the  dearth  continued  and 
increased  through  1597,  and  in  August  of  that  year  the 
price  of  the  bushel  of  wheat  had  risen  to  thirteen  shillings, 
fell  to  ten  shillings,  and  rose  again,  in  the  words  of  the  old 
faithful  chronicler  to  "  the  late  greatest  price3."  Malone 
found,  and  priuted,  a  letter  from  Abraham  Sturley,  of  Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon,  dated  24th  Jan.,  1597-8,  stating  that  his 
"  neighbours  groaned  with  the  wants  they  felt  through  the 
deamess  of  corn4,"  and  that  malcontents  in  great  numbers 
had  gone  to  Sir  Thorns  Lucy  and  Sir  Fulke  Greville  to 
complain  of  the  maltsters  for  engrossing  it  Connected  with 
this  dearth,  the  Shakespeare  Society  has  been  put  in  pos- 
session of  a  document  of  much  value  as  regards  the  bio- 
graphy of  our  poet,  although,  at  first  sight,  it  may  not  ap- 
pear to  deserve  notice,  it  is  sure  iu  the  eud  to  attract.  It  is 
thus  headed : — 

"  The  noate  of  corne  and  matte,  taken  the  4th  of  February 
1597,  iu  the  40th  year  of  the  raigne  of  our  most  gra- 
cious Soveraigue  Ladie,  Queen  Elizabeth,  &c." 

and  in  the  margin  opposite  the  title  are  the  words  "  Strat- 
forde  Burroughe,  Warwicke,"  It  was  evidently  prepared 
in  order  to  ascertain  how  much  corn  and  malt  there  really 
was  in  the  town  ;  and  it  is  divided  into  two  columns,  one 
showing  the  "  Townsmen's  corn,"  and  the  other  the  "  Strau- 
gere'  malt6."  The  names  of  the  Townsmen  and  Strangers 
(when  known)  are  all  given,  with  the  wards  in  which  they 

•  The  following  is  the  form  of  the  entry  of  the  burial  in  the  regis- 
l«  of  the  church  of  Stratford  :— 

"1590.     Jlugustn.    Hamnet  JUius  William  Shakspere." 
»  .Innales,  edit.  1015,  p.  1279.  3  ibid.  p.  1304. 

«  Malone's  Shakspeare.  by  Boswell,  vol.  ii.  p.  560. 

•  In  the  indorsement  of  the  document  it  is  stated,  that  the  Towns- 
ireirs  malt  amounted  to  449  quarters  and   two  "  strike  "  or  bushels, 

s  9  quarters  of  barley— their  peas,  beans,  and  vetches  to  15 
quarters,  and  their  oats  to  12  quarters.  The  malt,  the  property  of 
Strangers,  amounted  to  248  quarters  and  5  strike,  together  -with  3 
(Barters  of  peas.  Besides  malt,  the  Townsmen,  it  is  said,  were  in 
possesswn  ot  43  quarters  and  a  half  of  "  wheat  and  mill-corn,"  an<t 
£•  ?"arters  and  °  strike  of  barley  ;  but  it  seems  to  h^ve  bien  con- 
•id«ably  mor«,  even  in  Chapel-street  Ward 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 

resided,  so  that  we  are  enabled  by  this  document,  among 
other  things,  to  prove  in  what  part  of  Stratford  the  family 
of  our  great  poet  then  dwelt :  it  was  in  Chapel-street  Ward, 
and  it  appears  that  at  the  date  of  the  account  William 
Shakespeare  had  ten  quarters  of  corn  in  his  possession.  Aa 
some  may  be  curious  to  see  who  were  his  immediate  neigh- 
bours, and  in  what  order  the  names  are  given,  we  copy  the 
account,  as  far  as  it  relates  to  Chapel-street  Ward,  exactly 
as  it  stands. — 

CHAPPLE  STREET  WARD, 

8    Frauncis  Smythe,  Junr.,  3  quarters. 
5     John  Coxe,  5" quarters. 
171  Mr.  Thomas  Dyxon,  17£  quarters. 
3    Mr.  Thomas  Barbor,  3  quarters. 

5  Mychuell  Hare,  5  quarters. 

6  M'.  Bifielde,  6  quarters. 

6     Hugh  Aynger,  6  quarters. 

6  Thomas  Badsey,  6  quarters— bareley  1  quarter. 
1.  2  str.  John  Eogers,  10  strikes. 

8  Wm.  Etnmettcs,  8  quarters. 

11  M*.  Aspinall,  aboute  11  quarters. 

10  Wm.  Shackespere,  10  quarters. 

7  Jul.  Shawe,  7  quarters." 

We  shall  have  occasion  hereafter  again  to  refer  to  this 
document  upon  another  point,  but  in  the  mean  time  we  may 
remark  that  the  name  of  John  Shakespeare  is  not  found  in 
any  part  of  it.  This  fact  gives  additional  probability  to  the 
belief  that  the  two  old  people,  possibly  with  some  of  their 
children,  were  living  in  the  house  of  their  son  William,  for 
such  may  be  the  reason  why  we  do  not  find  John  Shake- 
speare mentioned  in  the  account  as  the  owner  of  any  corn. 
It  may  likewise  in  part  explain  how  it  happened  that  Wil- 
liam Shakespeare  was  in  possession  of  so  large  a  quantity : 
in  proportion  to  the  number  of  his  family,  in  time  of  scar- 
city, he  would  be  naturally  desirous  to  be  well  provided 
with  the  main  article  of  subsistence ;  or  it  is  very  possible 
that,  as  a  grower  of  grain,  he  might  keep  some  in  store  for 
Bale  to  those  who  were  hi  want  of  it.  Ten  quarters  does 
not  seem  much  more  than  would  be  needed  for  his  own 
consumption  ;  but  it  affords  some  proof  of  his  means  and 
substance  at  this  date,  that  only  two  persons  in  Chapel- 
street  Ward  had  a  larger  quantity  in  their  hands.  We  are 
led  to  iufer  from  this  circumstance  that  our  great  dramatist 
may  have  been  a  cultivator  of  laud,  and  it  is  not  unlikely 
that  the  wheat  in  his  granary  had  been  grown  on  .his  mo- 
ther's estate  of  Asby  es,  at  Wilmecote,  of  which  we  know  tjuat 
no  fewer  than  fifty,  out  of  about  sixty,  acres  were  arable1. 
1  Maloue's  Shakespeare,  by  Boswell,  vol.  ii.  p.  25. 


3XXX  THE    LIFE    OK 

We  must  row  return  to  London  and  to  theatrical  affair* 
there,  and  in  the  first  place  advert  to  a  passage  in  Howe's 
Life  of  Shakespeare,  relating  to  the  real  or  supposed  com- 
mencement of  the  connexion  between  our  great  dramatist 
and  Ben  Jonson1.  Rowe  tells  us  that  "  Shakespeare's  ac- 
quaintance with  Ben  Jonson  began  with  a  remarkable  piece 
of  humanity  and  good  nature.  Mr.  Jonson,  who  was  at 
that  time  altogether  unknown  to  the  world,  had  offered  one 
of  his  plays  to  the  players,  in  order  to  have  it  acted ;  and 
the  persons  into  whose  hands  it  was  put,  after  having  turned 
it  carelessly  and  superciliously  over,  were  just  upon  return- 
ing it  to  him  with  an  ill-natured  answer,  that  it  would  be 
of  no  service  to  their  company,  when  Shakespeare,  luckily, 
cast  his  eye  upon  it,  and  found  something  so  well  in  it,  as  to 
engage  him  first  to  read  it  through,  and  afterwards  to  re- 
commend Mr.  Jonson  and  his  writings  to  the  public."  This 
anecdote  is  entirely  disbelieved  by  Mr.  Gifford,  and  he  rests 
his  incredulity  upon  the  supposition,  that  Ben  Jonson's  ear- 
liest known  production,  "  Every  Man  in  his  Humour,"  waa 
originally  acted  in  1597  at  a  different  theatre,  and  he  pro- 
duces as  evidence  Henslowe's  Diary,  which,  he  states,  proves 
that  the  comedy  came  out  at  the  Rose2. 

1  For  the  materials  of  the  following  note,  which  sets  right  an  im- 
rortant  error  relating  to  Ben  Jonson's  mother,  we  are  indebted  to  Mr. 
Peter  Cunningham. 

Malone  and~Gi!lbrd  (Ben  Jonson's  Works,  vol.  i.  p.  5)  both  came  to 
ths  conclusion  that  the  Mrs.  Margaret  Jonson.  mentioned  in  the 
register  of  St.  Martin's  in  the  Fields  as  having  been  married,  17th 
November,  1575,  to  Mr.  Thomas  Fowler,  was  the  mother  of  Ben  Jon. 
son,  who  then  took  a  second  husband.  "There  cannot  be  a  reasona- 
ble doubt  of  it,"  says  Giftbrd  ;  but  the  fact  is  nevertheless  certainly 
otherwise.  It  appears  that  Ben  Jonson's  mother  was  living  after  the 
comedy  of  "  Eastward  Ho  !"  which  gave  offence  to  King  James,  (and 
•which  was  printed  in  1605,)  was  brought  out. — (Laing's  edit,  of 
"  Ben  Jonson's  Conversations,"  p. '20.)  It  is  incontestable  that  the 
Mrs.  Margaret  Fowler,  who  was  married  in  1575.  was  dead  before 
1595;  for  her  husband,  Mr.  Thomas  Fowler,  was  then  buried,  and  in 
the  inscription  upon  his  tomb,  in  the  old  church  of  St.  Martin's  in 
the  Fields,  it  was  stated  that  he  survived  his  three  wives,  Ellen.  Mar- 
garet, and  Elizabeth,  who  were  buried  in  the  same  grave.  The  in- 
scription (which  we  have  seen  in  Strype's  edit,  of  Clowe's  Survey, 
17*1,  b.  vi.  p.  09)  informs  us  also,  that  Mr.  Thomas  Fowler  was  "  born 
at  Wicam,  in  the  county  of  Lancaster,"  and  that  he  had  been 
"  Comptroller  and  Paymaster  of  the  Works"  to  Queen  Maiy,  and 
far  the  first  ten  years  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  The  date  of  his  death  is 
not  slated  in  the  inscription,  but  by  the  register  of  th»  •  hurch  it  ap- 
r-ars  that  he  was  buried  on  the  :X)th  May,  1595.  Ti.e  Mrs.  Margaret 
Fowler,  who  died  before  1595,  could  not  have  been  the  mother  of 
Bon  Jonson.  who  was  living  about  1004  ;  and  if  Ben  Jonson's  mo- 
t»er  married  a  second  time,  we  have  yet  to  ascertain  who  was  he/ 
*t',.'n  t  husband. 

3  The  precise  form  in  which  the  entry  stands  in  Henslcwe'*  ao- 
*>unt  l<rok  is  this  :— 

"*Vaye  1597    11.     It  at  the  comodey  of  Vm'.rs." 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXXXl 

The  truth,  however,  is,  /that  the  play  supposed,  on  the 
authority  of  Henslowe,  to  be  Ben  Jonson's  comedy,  is  only 
called  bv  Henslowe  "  Humours  "  or  "  Umers,"  as  he  igno- 
rautly  spells  it1.  It  is  a  mere  speculation  that  this  was  Ben 
Jonson's  play,  for  it  may  have  been  any  other  performance, 
by  any  other  poet,  in  the  title  of  which  the  word  "  Hu- 
mours "  occurred ;  and  we  have  the  indisputable  and  une- 
quivocal testimony  of  Ben  Jonsou  himself,  in  his  own  au- 
thorized edition  of' his  works  in  1616,  that  "  Every  Man  in 
his  Humour  "  was  not  acted  until  1598  :  he  was  not  satisfied 
with  stating  on  tl»e  title-page,  that  it  was  "  acted  in  the  year 
1598  by  the  then  Lord  Chamberlain  his  servants,"  which 
might  have  been  considered  sufficient ;  but  in  this  instance 
(as  in  all  others  in  the  same  volume)  he  informs  us  at  the 
end  that  1598  was  the  year  in  which  it  was  first  acted : — 
"This  comedy  was  first  acted  in  the  year  1598."  Are  we 
prepared  to  disbelieve  Ben  Jonsou's  positive  assertion  (a 
man  of  the  highest  and  purest  notions,  as  regarded  truth 
and  integrity)  for  the  sake  of  a  theory  founded  upon  the 
bare '  assumption,  that  Heuslowe  by  "  timers  "  not  only 
mcaut  Beu  Jouson's  "  Every  Man  in  his  Humour,"  but  could 
mean  nothing  else  ? 

Had  it  been  brought  out  originally  by  the  Lord  Admi- 
ral's players  at  the  Rose,  and  acted  with  so  much  success 
that  it  was  repeated  eleven  times,  as  Henslowe's  Diary 
shows  was  the  case  with  "  Umers,"  there  can  be  no  appa 
rent  reason  why  Ben  Jouson  should  not  have  said  so  ;  an  * 
if  he  had  afterwards  withdrawn  it  on  some  pique,  and  car- 
ried it  to  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  players,  we  can  hardly 
conceive  it  possible  that  a  man  of  Ben  Jonson's  temper  and 
spirit  would  not  have  told  us  why  in  some  other  part  of  his 
works. 


Mr.  Gifford,  passing  over  without  notice  the  positive  state- 
ment we  have        '    '  '      '         '"" 


passing  over  without  notice  the  positive  state- 
i  quoted,  respecting  the  first  acting  of  "  Every 
Man  in  his  Humour  "  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants 
in  1598,  proceeds  to  argue  that  Ben  Jonson  could  stand  in 
need  of  no  such  assistance,  as  Shakespeare  is  said  to  have 
afforded  him,  because  he  was  "  as  well  known,  and  perhaps 
Vetter,"  than  Shakespeare  himself.  Surely,  with  all  defer- 
ence for  Mr.  Gifford's  undisputed  acuteness  and  general  ac- 
curacy, we  may  doubt  how  Ben  Jonsou  could  be  btttt-i,  or 
<s?en  as  well  known  as  Shakespeare,  when  the  latter  had 
been  for  twelve  years  connected  with  the  stage  as  author 
and  actor,  and  had  written,  at  the  lowest  calculation,  twelve 
dramas,  while  the  former  was  only  twenty-four  years  old, 
tnd  had  produced  no  known  play  but  "  Every  Man  in  hia 

i  Ben  Jonson's  Works,  8vo.  1816,  vol.  i.  p  46 


CXXXli  THE    LIFE    OF 

Humour."  It  is  also  to  he  observed,  that  Henslowe  had  nc 
pecuniaiy  transactions  with  Ben  Jonson  prior  to  the  month 
of  August,  1598 ;  whereas,  if  "  Umers"  had  been  purchased 
from  him,  we  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  find  some  me 
moraudum  of  payments,  anterior  to  the  production  of  the 
comedy  on  the  stage  in  May,  1597. 

Add  to  this,  that  nothing  could  be  more  consistent  with 
the  amiable  and  generous  character  of  Shakespeare,  than 
that  he  should  thus  have  interested  himself  in  favour  of  a 
writer  who  was  ten  years  his  junior,  and  who  gave  such 
undoubted  proofs  of  genius  as  are  displayed  in  "  Every  Man 
in  liis  Humour."  Our  great  dramatist,  established  in  public 
favour  by  such  comedies  as  "  The  Merchant  of  Venice  "  and 
"A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  by  such  a  tragedy  as 
"  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  and  by  such  histories  as  "  King  John," 
"  Richard  II.,"  and  "  Richard  III.,"  must  have  felt  himself 
above  all  rivalry,  and  could  well  afford  this  act  of  "  hu- 
manity aud  good-nature,"  as  Rowe  terms  it,  (though  Mr. 
Gifford,  quoting  Rowe's  words,  accidentally  omits  the  two 
last,)  on  behalf  of  a  young,  needy,  and  meritorious  author. 
It  is  to  be  recollected  also  that  Rowe,  the  original  narrator 
of  the  incident,  does  not,  as  in  several  other  cases,  give  it  as 
if  he  at  all  doubted  its  correctness,  but  unhesitatingly  and 
distinctly,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  well  known,  and  entirely 
believed,  at  the  time  he  wrote. 

Another  circumstance  may  be  noticed  aa  an  incidental 
confirmation  of  Rowe's  statement,  with  which  Mr.  Gifford 
could  not  be  acquainted,  because  the  fact  has  only  been  re- 
cently discovered.  In  1598  Ben  Jonson,  being  then  only 
twenty-four  years  old,  had  a  quarrel  with  Gabriel  Spencer, 
oue  of  Henslowe's  principal  actors,  in  consequence  of  which 
they  met,  fought,  and  Spencer  was  killed.  Henslowe,  writ- 
ing to  Alleyn  on  the  subject  on  the  26th  September,  use* 
these  words :— "  Since  you  were  with  me,  I  have  lost  one 
of  my  company,  which  hurteth  me  greatly  •  that  is  Gabriel, 
for  he  is  slain  in  Hoxton  Fields  by  the  hands  of  Benjamin 
Jonson,  bricklayer1."  Now,  had  Ben  Jonson  been  at  that 
date  the  author  of  the  comedy  called  "  Umers,"  and  had  it 
been  hw  "  Every  Man  in  his  Humour,"  which  was  acted  by 
tiie  Lord  Admiral's  players  eleven  times,  it  is  not  very 
Lkely  that  Henslowe  would  have  been  ignorant  who  Benja- 
min Jonson  was,  and  have  spoken  of  him,  not  as  one  of  the 
dramatists  in  his  pay,  and  the  author  of  a  very  successful 
comedy,  but  merely  as  "  bricklayer :"  he  was  writing  also 
to  his  stepdaughter's  husband,  the  leading  member  of  his 

'  See  «  Memoirs  of  Edward  Alleyn,"  p.  51.     The  author  o;  that 

inU      8mCe  See"  reason  to  correct  himself  on  this  and  several  other 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXKXlll 

company,  to  whom  he  would  have  been  ready  to  give  the 
fullest  information  regarding  the  disastrous  affair.  We  only 
adduce  this  additional  matter  to  show  the  improbability  of 
the  assumption,  that  Ben  Jonson  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  comedy  of  "  Umers,"  acted  by  Heusluwe's  company  in 
May,  1597";  and  the  probability  of  the  position  that,asBter 
Jonson  himself  states,  it  was  originally  brought  out  in  1598 
by  "  the  then  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants."  It  may  have 
been,  and  probably  was,  acted  by  them,  because  Shake- 
speare had  kindly  interposed  with  his  associates  on  behalf 
of  the  deserving  and  unfriended  author. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Restriction  of  dramatic  performances  in  and  near  London  in 
1597.  Thomas  Nash  and  his  play,  "  The  Isle  of  Dogs :" 
imprisonment  of  Nash,  and  of  some  of  the  players  of  the 
Lord  Admiral.  Favour  shown  to  the  companies  of  the 
Lord  Chamberlain  and  of  the  Lord  Admiral.  Printing  of 
Shakespeare's  Plays  in  1597.  The  list  of  his  known  dra- 
mas, published  by  F.  Meres  in  1598.  Shakespeare  author- 
ized the  printing  "of  none  of  his  plays,  and  never  corrected 
the  press.  Carelessness  of  dramatic  authors  in  this  respect. 
"  The  Passionate  Pilgrim,"  1599.  Shakespeare's  reputation 
as  a  dramatist 

Is  the  summer  of  1597  an  event  occurred  which  seems  to 
have  produced  for  a  time  a  serious  restriction  upon  dramatic 
performances.  The  celebrated  Thomas  Nash,  early  in  the 
year,  had  written  a  comedy  which  he  called  "  The  Isle  of 
Dogs :"  that  he  had  partners  in  the  undertaking  there  is  no 
doubt ;  and  he  tells  us,  in  his  tract  called  "  Lenten  Stuff," 
printed  in  1599,  that  the  players,  when  it  was  acted  by  the 
Lord  Admiral's  servants  in  the  beginning  of  August,  1597, 
had  taken  most  unwarrantable  liberties  with  his  piece,  by 
making  large  additions,  for  which  he  ought  not  to  have 
been  responsible.  The  exact  nature  of  the  performance  is 
not  known,  but  it  was  certainly  satirical,  no  doubt  personal 
and  it  must  have  had  reference  also  to  some  of  the  polemi- 
cal and  political  questions  of  the  day.  The  representation 
of  it  was  forbidden  by  authority,  and  Nash,  with  others, 
was  arrested  under  an  order  from  the  privy  council,  aud 
sent  to  the  Fleet  prison1.  Some  of  the  offending  actors  had 

'  The  circumstance  was  thus  alluded  to  by  Francis  Meres  in  the 
next  year : — "As  Actieon  was  wooried  of  his  owne  hounds  so  is  T'jm 
Nash  of  his  lie  of  Doys.  Dcgges  were  the  death  of  Euripides  ;  tut 
bee  not  disconsolate,  gallant  young  Juvenall ;  Linus  the  sonne  of 


THE    LIFE    OF 

escaped  for  a  time,  and  the  privy  council,  not  satisfied  with 
what  had  been  already  done  m  the  way  of  punishment 
wrote  from  Greenwich  on  15th  August,  1597,  to  certain 
magistrates,  requiring  them  strictly  to  examine  all  the  par- 
ties in  custody,  with  a  view  to  the  discovery  of  others  not 
yet  apprehended.  This  important  official  letter,  which  has 
hitherto  been  unmeutioned,  we  have  inserted  in  a  note  from 
the  registers  of  the  privy  council  of  that  date ;  and  by  it 
we  learn,  not  only  that  Nash  was  the  author  of  the  "  sedi- 
tious and  slanderous"  comedy,  but  possibly  himself  an  ac- 
tor in  it,  and  "  the  maker  of  part  of  the  said  play,"  especi- 
ally pointed  at,  who  was  in  custody1. 

Before  the  date  of  this  incident  the  companies  of  various 
play-houses  in  the  county  of  Middlesex,  but  particularly  at 
the  Curtain  and  Theatre  in  Shoreditch  had  attracted  atten- 
tion, and  given  offence,  by  the  licentious  character  of  their 
performances  ;  and  the  registers  of  the  privy  council  show 
that  the  magistrates  had  been  written  to  on  the  28th  July, 
1597,  requiring  that  no  plays  should  be  acted  during  the 

Apollo  died  the  same  death.  Yet,  God  forbid,  that  so  brave  a  witte 
should  so  basely  perish  :  thine  are  but  paper  dogges  ;  neither  is  thy 
banishment,  like  Ovid's,  eternally  to  converse  with  the  barbaroui 
Getes  :  therefore,  comfort  thyselfe,  sweete  Tom,  with  Cicero's  glori- 
ous return  to  Rome,  and  with  the  counsel  Aeneas  gives  to  his  sea- 
beaten  soldiors,  lib.  i.  Aeneid  : — 
'  Pluck  up  thine  heart,  and  drive  from  thence  both  feare  and  care 

away ; 

To  thinke  on  this  may  pleasure  be  perhaps  another  day.' 
1  Durnto,  et  temet  rebus  servato  secundis."— Palladia  Tamia,  1593, 


i  a  lewa  piaie,  uiai  was  piaiea  in  one 
ncke  side,  containing  very  seditious 
aused  some  of  the  players  to  be  ap- 
>n,  whereof  one  of  them  was  not  only 


1  The  minute  in  the  registers  of  the  privy  council  (pointed  out  to 
ns  by  Mr.  Lemon)  is  this  :— 

il  A  letter  to  Richard  Topclyfe,  Thomas  Fowler,  and  Ric.  Skeving- 
ton,  Esquires,  Doctour  Fletcher,  and  Mr.  Wilbraham. 

"  Upon  information  given  us  of  a  lewd  plaie,  that  was  plaied  in  one 
of  the  plaie  houses  on  the  Ba     ' 
and  sclaunderous  matters,  wes  < 
prehended  and  comytted  to  pryson, 

an  actor,  but  a  maker  of  pane  of  the  said  plaie.  For  as  much  as  yt 
ys  thought  meete  that  the  rest  of  the  players  or  actours  in  that  mat- 
ter shal  be  apprehended,  to  receave  soche  punyshment  as  there  lewda 
anil  mutynous  behavior  doth  deserve ;  these  shall  be,  therefore,  to  re- 
quire yow  to  examine  these  of  the  plaiers  that  are  comytted,  whcsa 
names  are  knowne  to  you,  Mr  Topclyfe.  what  is  become  of  the  rest 
of  theire  fellowes  that  either  had  their  partes  in  the  devysinge  of  that 
•edytious  matter,  or  that  were  actours  or  plaiers  in  the  same,  what 
Ci'pies  they  have  given  forth  of  the  said  plave.  and  to  whorr.e,  and 
«jch  other  pointes  as  you  shall  thinke  meete  to  be  demaunded  of 
them  ;  wherein  you  shall  require  of  them  to  deale  trulie.  as  they  will 
looke  to  receave  anie  favour.  Wee  praie  yow  also  to  peruse  soch  pa- 
p*is  as  were  fownde  in  Nash  his  lodgings,  which  Ferrys,  a  messen- 
ger of  the  Chamber,  shall  delyver  unto  yow,  and  to  certyfie  us  th« 
•xamy nations  yov  take.  So  &c.  Greenwich,  15.  Aug.  1597." 

I'rcm  the  Counc.l  Register, 
illiz.  No.  13.  p.  346. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXXXV 

summer,  and  directing,  in  order  to  put  an  effectual  stop  to 
»uch  performances,  because  "  lewd  matters  were  handled  on 
stages,''  that  the  two  places  above  uauied  should  be  "  plucked 
down1."  The  magistrates  were  also  enjoined  to  send  for 
the  owners  of  "  any  other  common  play-house  "  within  theii 
jurisdiction,  and  not  only  to  forbid  performances  of  every 
description,  but "  so  to  deface  "  all  places  erected  for  theatri- 
cal representations, "  as  they  might  not  be  employed  again  to 
such  use."  This  command  was  given  just  anterior  to  the 
production  of  Nash's  "Jsle  of  Dogs,"  which  was  certainly 
not  calculated  to  lessen  the  objections  entertained  by  any 
persons  in  authority  about  the  Court 

The  Blackfriars,  not  being,  according  to  the  terms  of  the 
order  of  the  privy  council,  "  a  common  play-house,"  but 
what  was  called  a  private  theatre,  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  included  in  the  general  ban ;  but  as  we  know  that 
similar  directions  had  been  conveyed  to  the  magistrates  of 
the  county  of  Surrey,  it  is  somewhat  surprising  that  they 
seem  to  have  produced  no  effect  upon  the  performances  at 
the  Globe  or  the  Rose  upon  the  Bankside. "  We  must  attri- 
bute this  circumstance,  perhaps,  to  the  exercise  of  private 
influence ;  and  it  is  quite  certain  that  the  necessity  of  keep- 
ing some  companies  in  practice,  in  order  that  they  might 
be  prepared  to  exhibit,  when  required,  before  the  Queen, 
was  nuide  the  first  pretext  for  granting  exclusive  "  licenses  " 
to  the  actors  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  and  of  the  Lord 
Admiral  We  know  that  the  Earls  of  Southampton  and 
Rutland,  about  this  date  and  shortly  afterwards,  were  in  the 
frequent  habit  of  visiting  the  theatres2 :  the  Earl  of  Not- 
tingham also  seems  to  have  taken  an  unusual  interest  on 
various  occasions  in  favour  of  the  company  acting  under 
his  name,  and  to  the  representations  of  these  noblemen  we 
are,  perhaps,  to  attribute  the  exemption  of  the  Globe  and 
the  Rose  from  the  operation  of  the  order  "  to  deface  "  all 
buildings  adapted  to  dramatic  representations  in  Middlesex 
and  Surrey,  in  a  manner  that  would  render  them  unfit  for 
any  such  purpose  in  future.  We  have  the  authority  of  the 

l  "We  find  evidence  in  a  satirist  of  the  time,  that  about  this  dale 
the  Theatre  was  abandoned,  though  not  "  plucked  down." 

•'  But  see  yonder 

One,  like  the  unfrequented  Theatre, 
Walks*  in  darke  silence,  and  vast  solitude." 

Kdw.  Uuilpin's  "SkialetheiA."  tivo.  1598.     Sign.  D6 
The  theatre,  in  all  probability,  was  not  used  for  plays  afterwards. 

a  See  Vol.  ii.  p.  132  of  the  '•  Sidney  Papers."  where  Rowland 
White  tells  Sir  Robert  Sydney, '-.My  Lord  Southampton  and  Lord 
Rutland  come  not  to  the  court  :  the  one  doth  but  very  seldom.  They 
pass  away  the  time  in  London  merely  in  going  to  plays  every  day.' 
This  letter  is  dated  llth  October,  1599,  and  the  Queen  was  then  at 


CXXXV1  THE    LIFE    OF 

registers  of  the  privy  council,  under  date  of  19th  Feb.  1597-8, 
for  stilting  that  the  companies  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain 
and  of  the  Lord  Admiral  obtained  renewed  permission  "  to 
use  and  practise  stage-plays,"  in  order  that  they  might  be 
duly  qualified,  if  called  upon  to  perform  before  the  Queen. 

This  privilege,  as  regards  the  players  of  the  Lord  Admi- 
ral, seems  the  more  extraordinary,  because  that  -was  the  very 
company  which  only  in  the  August  preceding  had  given  such 
offence  by  the  representation  of  Nash's  "  Isle  of  Dogs,"  that 
its  farther  performance  was  forbidden,  the  author  and  some 
of  the  players  were  arrested  and  sent  to  the  Fleet,  and 
vigorous  steps  taken  to  secure  the  persons  of  other  parties 
who  for  a  time  had  made  their  escape.  It  is  very  likely 
that  Nash  was  the  scape-goat  on  the  occasion,  and  that  the 
chief  blame  was  thrown  upon  him,  although,  in  his  tract, 
before  mentioned,  he  maintains  that  he  was  the  most  inno- 
cent party  of  all  those  who  Avere  concerned  in  the  transac- 
tion. It  seems  evident,  that  in  1598  there  was  a  strong 
disposition  on  the  part  of  some  members  of  the  Queen's 
government  to  restrict  dramatic  performances,  in  and  near 
London,  to  the  servants  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain  and  of  the 
Lord  Admiral. 

As  far  as  we  can  judge,  there  was  good  reason  for  show- 
ing favour  to  the  association  with  which  Shakespeare  was 
connected,  because  nothing  has  reached  us  to  lead  to  the 
belief  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  had  incurred 
any  displeasure  :  if  the  Lord  Admiral's  servants  were  to  be 
permitted  to  continue  their  performances  at  the  Rose,  it 
would  have  been  an  act  of  the  grossest  injustice  to  have 
prevented  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  from  acting  at 
the  Globe.  Accordingly,  we  hear  of  no  interruption,  at 
this  date,  of  the  performances  at  either  of  the  theatres  in 
the  receipts  of  which  Shakespeare  participated. 

To  the  year  1598  inclusive,  only  five  of  his  plays  had 
been  printed,  although  lie  had  then  been  connected  with  the 
stage  for  about  twelve  years,  viz.  "Romeo  and  Juliet," 
*  Richard  II."  and  "  Richard  III."  in  1597,  and  "  Love's  La- 
bour 's  Lost"  and  "  Henry  IV."  part  i.iu  15981 ;  but,  as  we 
loam  from  indisputable  contemporaneous  authority,  he  had 
written  seven  others,  besides  what  he  had  done  in"  the  way 
of  alteration,  addition,  and  adaptation.  The  earliest  enu- 
meration of  Shakespeare's  dramas  made  its  appearance  hi 
1598,  in  a  work  by  Francis  Meres  entitled  "  Palladis  To- 

1  It  is  doubtful  whether  an  edition  of  '*  Titus  \ndronicus  "  had  not 
Appeared  as  early  as  1594  ;  but  no  earlier  copy  than  that  of  1600,  in 
the  library  of  Lord  Francis  Kgerton,  is  known.  It  is  necessary  to 
•ear.  in  mind,  that  the  impression  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  in  1597 
m  only  a  mangled  and  mutilated  representation  of  the  state  ir 
wh-cn  the  tragedy  came  from  the  hi-nd  of  its  autho'r. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  UXXXVU 

mia,  Wits  Treasury."  In  a  division  >f  this  small  but  thick 
volume  (consisting  of  666  8vo.  pages,  besides  "  The  Table,") 
headed  "  A  comparative  discourse  of  our  English  Poets, 
with  the  Greeke,  Latine  and  Italian  Poets,"  the  author  in- 
serts the  following  paragraph,  which  we  extract  precisely 
as  it  stands  in  the  original,  because  it  has  no  where,  that  wo 
recollect,  been  quoted  quite  correctly. 

"  As  Plantusand  Senecaars  accounted  the  best  forComody 
and  Tragedy  among  the  Latines:  so  Shakespeare  among  y* 
English  is  the  most  excellent  in  both  kinds  for  the  stage  ;  for 
Comedy,  witnes  his  Getleme  of  Verona,  his  Errors,  his  Loue 
labors  "lost,  his  Loue  labours  wonne,  his  Midsummers  night 
dreame,  &  his  Mercliant  of  Venice  :  for  Tragedy  his  Richard 
the  2.  Rictiard  the  3.  Ifenry  the  4.  King  lohn,  Titus  An. 
dronicus  and  his  Romeo  and  ZvKst1." 

»  The  following  passages,  in  the  same  division  of  the  work  ot 
Meres,  contain  mention  of  the  name  or  works  of  .Shakespeare. 

"As  the  soule  of  Euphorbus  was  thought  to  hue  in  Pythagoras, 
so  the  sweete  wittie  soule  of  Quid  liues  in  mellifluous  aud  hony- 
tongued  Shakespeare  ;  witnes  his  fenim  ami  Minis,  his  J.uerecc,  his 
sugred  sonnets  among  his  priuate  friends  &c."  fol.  281. 

'•As  Epius  Stolo  said,  the  Muses  would  speake  with  Plautus 
tongue,  if  they  would  speak  Latin ;  so  I  say  the  Muses  would  speak 
wuh  Shakespeare's  fine-filed  phrase,  if  they  would  speak  English." 
fol  -2d-2. 

"And  as  Horace  saith  of  his,  T3xegi  monumentu  aere  perennius, 
Regaliq;  situ  pyramidum  altius ;  Quod  non  imber  edax  ;  NonAquilo 
impotens  possit  diruere.  aut  innumerabilis  annorum  series  et  fuga 
teraporum;  so  say  I  severally  of  Sir  Philip  Sidneys.  Spencers,  Dan- 
iels. Drsytons.  Shakespeares.  and  Warners  vrorkes."  fol.  '28-2. 

"  Ai.  Pindarus.  Anacreon,  and  Callimachus  among  the  Greekes,  and 
Horact  tiid  Catullus  among  the  Latines,  are  the  best  lyrick  poets; 
so  in  this  faculty  the  best  araog  our  poets  are  Spencer  (who  excelleth 
in  all  kinds)  Daniel,  Drayton,  Shakespeare,  Bretto.:)  fol.  -282. 

"As  tki<>.««  tragicke  poets  flourished  in  Greece,  JSschylus.  Euripe- 
des,  Sophocles,  Alexander  Aetolus.  Achieus  Erithriieus,  Astydamag 
Atheniesii,  Apollodorus  Tarsensis,  Nicomachus  Phrygius,  Thespig 
Atticus,  aid  Timon  Apolloniates;  and  these  among  the  Latines, 
Accius,  M.  Attilius,  Pomponius  Secundus  and  Seneca;  so  these  are 
our  best  ib,-  tragedie  ;  the  Lord  Bnckhurst,  Doctor  Leg  of  Cambridge, 
Dr.  Ede»  of  Oxford.  Maister  Edward  Ferris,  the  Authour  of  the  Mtr- 
r,mr  for  Jliiifi.itratrg.  Marlow,  Peele,  Watson,  Kid.  Shakespeare, 
Drayton,  Chapman,  Decker,  and  Benjamin  lohnson."  fol.  2i3. 

"  The  best  poets  for  comedy  among  the  Greeks  are  these  :  Menan- 
der.  Aristophanes,  Eupolis  Atheniensis  Alexis,  Terius,  Nicoslratus, 
Amipsias  Atheniensis,  Anaxadrides  Rhodius.  Aristonymus,  Archip- 
pus  Atheniesis,  and  Callias  Atheniensis:  and  among  the  Latineu. 
Plautus,  Terence,  Nzuius,  Sext.  Turpilius,  Licinius  Imbrex,  and 
VirgiliusRomanus  ;  so  the  best  for  comedy  amongst  us  bee  Edward 
Earle  of  Oxforde,  Doctor  Gager  of  Oxforde,  Maister  Rowley,  once  a 
rare  scholar  of  learned  Pembrooke  Hall  in  Cambridge.  Maister  Ed- 
wardeg.  one  of  her  Majesties  Chappell,  eloquent  and  wittie  John 
Lilly,  Lodge,  Gascoyne.  Greene.  Shakespeare.  Thomas  Nash,  Thomas 
Heywood,  Anthony  Mundye.  our  best  plotter.  Chapman,  Porter,  Wil 
ion,  Hathway,  and  Henry  Chettle."  fol.  2d3. 

"As  these  are  famous  among  the  Greeks  for  elegie.  Melanthu*. 
Mymnerus  Colophonius,  Olympius  Mysius,  Parthenius  Nicaus,  Phi- 
TOL.  I.  10 


CXXXVlii  THE    LIFE    OF 

Thus  we  sec  that  twelve  comedies,  histories,  and  trage 
dies  (for  we  have  specimens  in  each  department)  were 
known  as  Shakespeare's  in  the  Autumn  of  1598,  when  the 
work  of  Meres  came  from  the  press1.  It  is  a  remarkable 
circumstance,  evincing  strikingly  the  manner  in  which  the 
various  companies  of  actors  of  that  period  were  able  to 
keep  popular  pieces  from  the  press,  that  until  Shakespeare 
had  been  a  writer  for  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  ten  or 
eleven  years  not  a  siugle  play  by  him  was  published  ;  and 
then  four  of  his  first  printed  plays  were  without  his  name, 
as  if  the  bookseller  had  been  ignorant  of  the  fact,  or  as  if 
he  considered  that  the  omission  would  not  affect  the  sale :  one 
of  them,  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  was  never  printed  in  any  early 
quarto  as  the  work  of  Shakespeare,  as  will  be  seen  from 
our  exact  reprint  of  the  title-pages  of  the  editions  of  1 597 
1599,  and  1609,  (see  lutroduc.2)  The  reprints  of"  Richard 
II."  and  "  Richard  III."  in  1598;  as  before  observed,  hav« 
Shakespeare's  name  on  the  title-pages,  and  they  were  issued 
perhaps,  after  Meres  had  distinctly  assigned  those  "  histx> 
ries  "  to  him. 

It  is  our  conviction,  after  the  most  minute  and  patient 
examination  of,  we  believe,  every  old  impression,  that 
Shakespeare  in  no  instance  authorized  the  publication  of  hit 
plays3 :  we  do  not  consider  even  "  Hamlet "  an  exception 
although  the  edition  of  1604  was  probably  intended,  by 
some  parties  connected  with  the  theatre,  to  supersede  the 

letas  Cous,  Theogenes  Megarensis.  and  Pigres  Halicarnasrcus ;  and 
these  among  the  Latines,  Mecrenas,  Quid,  Tibu.lus,  Propcrtius.  T. 
Valgius,  Cassius  Seuerus,  and  Clodius  Sabinus  ;  so  these  are  the 
most  passionate  among  us  to  be waile  and  bemoane  the  perplexities 
of  loue  :  Henrie  Howard  Karle  of  Surrey,  sir  Thomas  Wyat  the  elder, 
»ir  Francis  Brian,  sir  Philip  Sidney,  sir  Walter  Rawley,  sir  Edward 
Dyer,  Spencer,  Daniel,  Drayton.  Shakespeare,  Whetstone,  Gascoyne, 
Samuel!  Page  sometime  fellowe  of  Corpus  CAristi  Colledge  in  Ox- 
ford, Churchyard.  Bretton."  fol.  sJ33. 

'  It  was  entered  for  publication  on  the  Stationers'  Registers  in  Sep- 
tember, 159S.  Meres  must  have  written  something  in  verse  wti-u 
has  not  reached  our  day,  because  in  1001  he  was  addressed  by  C 
Fitzgeoflrey,  in  his  ,9Jf unite,  as  a  poet  and  theologian  :  he  was  cer 
tamly  well  acquainted  with  the  writings  of  all  the  poets  of  his  time, 
whatever  might  be  their  department.  Fitzgeoffrey  mentions  Merei 
in  company  with  Spenser,  Daniel,  Drayton,  Ben  Jonson,  Sylvester, 
Chapman,  Marston.  &c. 

3  The  same  remark  will  apply  to  "  Henry  V."  first  pnnted  in  4to, 

1600  and  again  in  1(>0-J,  and  a  third  time  in  1608,  without  the  name 

t-hakespeare.     However,  this  "history"   never  appeared   in  any 

thing  like  an  authentic  shape,  such  as  we  may  suppose  it  came  from 

bhakespeare's  pen,  until  it  was  included  in  the  folio  of  16:23. 

It  will  be  observed  that  we  confine  this  opinion  to  the  plavs, 
because  with  respect  to  the"  poems,  especially  -Venus  and  Adoni's  '» 
*nd  L,ucrece,'  we  feel  quite  asstrongly  convinced  that  Shakespeare, 
*eing  instrumental  in  their  publication,  and  more  anxious  aboul 
their  correctness,  did  see  at  least  the  first  editions  through  the  press. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXXX1X 

garbled  and  fraudulent  edition  of  1603  :  Shakespeare,  in 
our  opinion,  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  one  or  with  the 
other.  He  allowed  most  mangled  and  deformed  copies  of 
several  of  his  greatest  works  to  be  circulated  for  many 
years,  and  did  not  think  it  worth  his  while  to  expose  the 
fraud,  which  remained,  in  several  cases,  undetected,  as  far  aa 
the  great  body  of  the  public  was  concerned,  until  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  folio  of  1623.  Our  great  dramatist's  indif- 
ference upon  this  point  seems  to  have  been  shared  by  many, 
if  not  by  most,  of  his  contemporaries ;  and  if  the  quarto 
impression  of  any  one  of  his  plays  be  more  accurate  in 
typography  than  another,  we  feel  satisfied  that  it  arose  out 
of  the  better  state  of  the  manuscript,  or  the  greater  pains 
and  fidelity  of  the  printer. 

We  may  here  point  out  a  strong  instance  of  the  careless 
ness  of  dramatic  authors  of  that  period  respecting  the  con- 
dition in  which  their  productions  came  into  the  world :  others 
might  be  adduced  without  much  difficulty,  but  one  will  be 
sufficient  Before  his  "Rape  of  Lucrece,"  a  drama  first 
printed  in  1608,  Thomas  Hey  wood  inserted  ao  address  to 
the  reader,  informing  him  (for  it  was  an  exception  to  the 
general  rule)  that  he  had  given  his  consent  to  the  publica- 
tion ;  but  those  who  have  examined  that  impression,  and 
its  repetition  in  1609,  will  be  aware  that  it  is  full  of  the 
very  grossest  blunders,  which  the  commonest  corrector  of 
the  press,  much  less  the  author,  if  he  had  seen  the  sheets, 
could  not  have  allowed  to  pass.  Nearly  all  plays  of  that 
time  were  most  defectively  printed,  but  Heywood's  "  Rape 
of  Lucrece,"  as  it  originally  came  from  the  press  with  the  au- 
thor's imprimatur,  is,  we  think,  the  worst  specimen  of  ty- 
pography that  ever  met  our  observation1. 

Returning  to  the  important  list  of  twelve  plays  furnished 
by  Meres,  we  may  add,  that  although  he  does  not  mention 
them,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  three  parts  of  "  Henry 
VI."  had  been  repeatedly  acted  before  1598  :  we  may  pos- 
sibly infer,  that  they  were  not  inserted  because  they  were 
then  well  known  not  to  be  the  sole  work  of  Shakespeare, 

i  "We  cannot  wonder  at  the  errors  in  plays  surreptitiously  procured 
and  hastily  printed,  which  was  the  case  with  many  impressions  of 
that  day.  Upon  this  point  Heywood  is  an  unexceptionable  witness^ 
and  he  te..s  us  of  one  of  h.s  dramas, 

"  tl  at  some  by  stenography  drew 

The  plot,  put  it  in  print,  scarce  one  word  true." 

Other  dramatists  make  the  same  complaint ;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  it  was  the  practice  so  to  defraud  authors  and  actors,  and  to  palm 
wretchedly  disfigured  pieces  upon  the  public  as  genuine  and  authen- 
tic works.  It  was,  we  are  satisfied,  in  this  way  that  Shakespeare't 
'•Romeo  ajid  Juliet,"  "Henry  V.,"  and  "Hamlet,"  first  got  out  into 
the  world. 


Cxi  THE  LIFE  OF 

By  "  Henr/ 1 V."  it  is  most  probable  that  Meres  intended 
both  parts  of  that  "  history."  "  Love's  Labour  's  Won  " 
has  been  supposed,  since  the  time  of  Dr.  Farmer,  to  be 
"  All 's  Well  that  ends  Well,"  under  a  different  title  :  our 
notion  is  (see  Introduction)  that  the  original  name  given 
to  the  play  was  "  Love's  Labour  's  Won  ;"  and  that,  when 
it  was  revived  with  additions  and  alterations,  in  1605  or 
1606,  it  received  also  a  new  appellation. 

In  connexion  with  the  question  regarding  the  interest 
taken  by  Shakespeare  in  the  publication  of  his  works,  w<> 
may  notice  the  impudent  fraud  practised  in  the  year  after 
the  appearance  of  the  list  furnished  by  Meres,  In  1599 
came  out  a  collection  of  short  miscellaneous  poems,  under 
the  title  of  "  The  Passionate  Pilgrim :"  they  were  all  of  them 
imputed,  by  W.  Jaggard  the  printer,  or  by  W.  Leake  the 
bookseller,  to  Shakespeare,  although  some  of  them  were 
notoriously  by  other  poets.  In  the  Introduction  to  our 
reprint  of  this  little  work  we  have  stated  all  the  known 
particulars  regarding  it;  but  Shakespeare, as  far  as  ap- 
pears from,  any  evidence  that  has  descended  to  us, 
took  no  notice  of  the  trick  played  upon  him  :  possibly  he 
never  heard  of  it,  or  if  he  heard  of  it,  left  it  to  its  own 
detection,  not  thinking  it  worth  while  to  interfere1.  It 
serves  to  establish,  what  certainly  could  not  otherwise  be 
doubted,  the  popularity  of  Shakespeare  in  1599,  and  the 
manner  in  which  a  scheming  printer  and  stationer  endea- 
voured to  take  advantage  of  that  popularity. 

Yet  it  is  singular,  if  we  rely  upon  several  coeval  authori- 
ties, how  little  our  great  dramatist  was  about  this  period 
known  and  admired  for  his  plays.  Richard  Barafield  pub- 
lished his  "  Enconiion  of  Lady  Pecunia,"  in  1598,  (the  year 
in  which  the  list  of  twelve  of  Shakespeare's  plays  was 
printed  by  Meres)  and  from  a  copy  of  verses  entitled 
"Remembrance  of  some  English  Poets,"  we  quote  the 
following  notice  of  Shakespeare : 

"  And  Shakespeare  thou,  whose  honey-flowing  vein, 
Pleasing  the  world,  ihy  praises  doth  contain. 
Whose  P«nw.  and  whose  Lucrect,  sweet  ana  chaste. 
Thy  name  in  Fame's  immortal  book  hath  plac'd  ; 
Live  ever  yon,  at  least  in  fume  live  ever : 
Well  may  the  body  die,  but  fame  die  never." 

Here  Shakespeare's  popularity,  as  "pleasing  the  world," 
ta  noticed ;  but  the  proofs  of  it  are  not  derived  from  the 

>  When  "The  Passionate  Pilgrim"  was  reprinted  in  1612,  with 
•orae  additional  pieces  by  Thomas  Heywood,  that  dramatist  pointed 
""u-'u6  'mP°8ition'  and  procured  the  cancelling  of  the  title-page  i« 
which  the  authorship  of  tho  whole  was  asgignel  to  Shakespeare. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXll 

stage,  where  his  dramas  were  in  daily  p  ?rfurmance  before 
crowded  audiences,  but  from  the  success  of  his  "  Venus  and 
A-donis "  and  "  Lucrece,"  which  had  gone  through  various 
editions.  Precisely  to  the  same  effect,  but  a  still  stronger 
instance,  we  may  refer  to  a  play  in  which  both  Burbage  and 
Kempe  are  introduced  as  characters,  the  one  of  whom  had 
obtained  such  celebrity  in  the  tragic,  and  the  other  in  the 
comic  parts  in  Shakespeare's  dramas  :  we  allude  to  "  The 
Return  from  Parnassus,"  which  was  indisputably  acted  before 
the  death  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  In  a  scene  where  two  young 
Btudeuts  are  discussing  the  merits  of  particular  poets,  one  of 
them  speaks  thus  of  Shakespeare : 

"  Who  loves  Adonis  love  or  Lucrece  rape, 
His  sweeter  verse  contains  heart-robbing  life  ; 
Could  but  a  graver  subject  him  content, 
Without  love's  foolish,  lazy  languishmeut." 

Not  the  most   distant  allusion  is  made  to  any  of  his 
dramatic  productions,  although  the  poet  criticised  by  the 

Joung  students  immediately  before  Shakespeare  was  Ben 
onson,  who  was  deckred  to  be  "  the  wittiest  fellow,  of  a 
bricklayer,  in  England,"  but  "  a  slow  inventor."  Hence  we 
might  be  led  to  imagine  that,  even  down  to  as  late  a  period 
as  the  commencement  of  the  seventeenth  century,  the  repu- 
tation of  Shakespeare  depended  rather  upon  his  poems  than 
upon  his  plays ;  almost  as  if  productions  for  the  stage  were 
not  looked  upon,  at  that  date,  as  part  of  the  recognized 
literature  of  the  country 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

New  Place,  or,  "  the  great  house,"  in  Stratford,  bought  by 
Shakespeare  in  1597.  Removal  of  the  Lord  Admiral's 
players  from  the  Bankside  to  the  Fortune  theatre  in  Crip- 
plegate.  Rivalry  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  and  Lord  Ad- 
minil's  company.  Order  in  1600  confining  the  acting  of 
plays  to  the  Globe  and  Fortune  :  the  influence  of  the  two 
associations  occupying  those  theatres.  Disobedience  of 
various  companies  to  the  order  of  1600.  Plays  by  Shake- 
speare published  in  1600.  The  "  First  Part  of  the  Life  of 
Sir  Jonn  Oldcastle,"  printed  in  1600,  falsely  imputed  to 
Shakespeare,  and  cancelling  of  the  title-page. 

IT  will  have  been  observed,  that  in  the  document  we  have 
produced,  relating  to  the  quantity  of  com  and  malt  in  Strat- 
ford, it  is  stated  that  William  Shakespeare's  residence  wa« 
ill  thnt  division  of  the  borough  called  Chapel-street  ward. 


Cxlil  THE    LIFE    OK 

This  is  an  important  circumstance,  because  we  think  it  maj 
be  said  to  settle  decisively  the  disputed  question,  whether 
our  great  dramatist  purchased  what  was  known  as  "  tho 
great  house,"  or  "  New  Place,"  before,  in,  or  after  1597.  It 
was  situated  in  Chapel-street  ward,  close  to  the  chapel  of 
the  Holy  Trinity.  We  are  now  certain  that  he  had  a  house 
in  the  ward  in  February,  1597-8,  and  that  he  had  ten  quar- 
ters of  com  there  ;  and  we  need  not  doubt  that  it  was  the 
dwelling  which  had  been  built  by  Sir  Hugh  Clopton  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  VIL  :  the  Cloptons  subsequently  sold  it  to  a 
person  of  the  name  of  Botte',and  he  to  Hercules  Underbill, 
who  disposed  of  it  to  Shakespeare.  "We  therefore  find  him, 
in  the  beginning  of  1598,  occupying  one  of  the  best  houses, 
in  one  of  the  best  parts  of  Stratford.  He  who  had  quitted 
his  native  town  about  twelve  years  before,  poor  and  com- 
paratively friendless,  was  able,  by  the  profits  of  his  own 
exertions,  and  the  exercise  of  his  own  talents,  to  return  to  it, 
and  to  establish  his  family  in  more  comfort  and  opulence 
than,  as  far  as  is  known,  they  had  ever  before  enjoyed.' 

i  Botte  probably  lived  in  it  in  1564,  -when  he  contributed  4s.  to  the 
poor  who  were  afflicted  with  the  plague  :  this  was  the  highest  amount 
subscribed,  the  bailiff  only  giving  3s  4rf.,  and  the  head  alderman  2s.  Sd. 

1  That  Shakespeare  was  considered  a  man  who  was  in  a  condition 
to  lend  a  considerable  sum,  in  the  autumn  of  1593,  we  have  upon  the 
evidence  of  Richard  Quyney,  (father  to  Thomas  Quyney,  who  subse- 
quently married  Shakespeare's  youngest  daughter  Judith)  who  then 
applied  to  him  for  a  loan  of  3(M.,  equal  to  about  150/.  of  our  present 
money,  and  in  terms  which  do  not  indicate  any  doubt  that  our  poet 
•would  be  able  to  make  the  advance.  This  application  is  contained  in 
a  letter  which  must  have  been  sent  by  hand,  as  it  unluckily  contains 

speare,  and  it  was  first  printed  by  Boswell  from  Malone's  papers,  vol. 
ii.  p.  585. 

"Loving  Contryman,!  am  bolde  of  yo».  as  of  a  frende,  craveing 
yo<"  helpe  w">  xxx'",  uppon  M'  Bushell  &  my  securytee,or  M'  Myt- 
ith  me.     Mr  Rosswell  is  not  come  to  London  as  yeate.  &  I  hav« 


especiall  cawse.  Yo«  shall  frende  me  muche  in  helpeing  me  out  of 
all  the  debeits  I  owe  in  London,  I  thanck  god,  and  muche  quiet  to  my 
mynde  wch  wolde  not  be  indebited.  I  am  now  towards  the  Cowrte, 


in  hope  yr  answer  for  the  dispatche  of  my  Buysenes.  Yo"  shall 
nether  loose  creddytt  nor  monney  by  me,  the  Lorde  willinge  ;  &  nowe 
butt  pswade  your  selfe  soe  as  I  hope  &  yo"  shall  nott  need  to  feare  ; 
but  with  all  hartie  thanckfullness  I  wyll  holde  my  tyme  &  content 
TO"'  frend,  &  yf  we  Bargaine  faither.  yo»  shall  be  the  pale  m' 
yo»'  selfe.  My  tyme  biiVls  me  to  hasten  to  an  ende,  <k  soe  I  comitt 
thys  [to]  yowr  care  &.  hope  of  yowr  helpe.  I  feare  I  shall  nott  be  backe 
this  night  from  the  Cowrte.  haste,  the  Lorde  be  w"  yo"  &  w">  u» 
all.  amen.  From  the  Bell  in  Carter  Lane,  the  25  October  1598. 
"Yo-«inallkyndenes. 

li  RVC.  QlJYNSY. 

"To  my  Loveing  good  frend 

4  contryman  M'  W- 

Shackespe  thees." 

The  deficiency  as  regards  the  direction  of  the  letter,  lamented  by 
M&lone.  is  not  of  so  much  importance,  because  we  have  proved  that 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXlUl 

We  consider  the  point  that  Shakespeare  had  become  ownei 
oi  New  Place  in  or  before  1597  as  completely  made  out,  aa, 
at  such  a  distance  of  time,  and  with  such  imperfect  iufonna 
tion  upon  nearly  all  matters  connected  with  his  history 
could  be  at  all  expected1. 

We  apprehend  likewise,  as  we  have  already  remarked 
(p.  Ix),  that  the  confirmation  of  arms  in  1596,  obtained  as 
we  believe  by  William  Shakespeare,  had  reference  to  the 
permanent  and  substantial  settlement  of  his  family  iu 
Stratford,  and  to  the  purchase  of  a  residence  there  consistent 
with  the  altered  circumstances  of  that  family — altered  by 
its  increased  wealth  and  consequence,  owing  to  the  success 
of  our  great  poet  both  as  an  actor  and  a  dramatist. 

The  removal  of  the  Lord  Admiral's  players,  under 
Henslowe  and  Alleyn,  from  the  Rose  theatre  on  the  Bank 
side,  to  the  new  house  called  the  Fortune,  iu  Golding-laue, 
Cripplegate,  soon  after  the  date  to  which  we  are  now 
referring,  may  lead  to  the  opinion  that  that  company  did 
not  find  itself  equal  to  sustain  the  rivalship  with  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  servants,  under  Shakespeare  and  Burbage,  at 
the  Globe.  That  theatre  was  opened,  as  we  have  adduced 
reasons  to  believe,  in  the  spring  of  1595 :  the  Rose  was  a 
considerably  older  building,  and  the  necessity  for  repairing 
it  might  enter  into  the  calculation,  when  Henslowe  and 

Shakespeare  was  resident  in  Southwark  in  1596;  and  he  probably 
was  so  in  159S,  because  the  reasons  which,  we  have  supposed,  in- 
duced him  to  take  up  his  abode  there  would  still  be  in  operation,  in 
as  much  force  as  ever. 

i  In  the  garden  of  this  house  it  is  believed  that  Shakespeare  planted 
a  mulberry  tree,  about  the  year  1609  :  such  is  the  tradition,  and  we 
are  disposed  to  think  that  it  is  founded  in  truth.  In  KiOil,  King 
James  was  anxious  to  introduce  the  mulberry  (which  had  been  im- 
ported about  half  a  century  earlier)  into  general  cultivation,  and  the 
records  in  the  State  Paper  Office  show  that  in  that  year  letters  wen; 
written  upon  the  subject  to  most  of  the  justices  of  peace  and  deputy 
lieutenants  in  the  kingdom  :  the  plants  were  sold  by  the  .State  at  (M 
the  hundred.  On  the  A5th  November,  1609,  9J1W.  were  paid  out  of  the 
public  purse  for  the  planting  of  mulberry  trees  ''  near  the  palace  of 
Westminster."  The  mulberry  tree,  said  to  have  been  planted  by 
Shakespeare,  was  in  existence  up  to  about  the  year  1755 ;  and  in  the 
spring  of  1742,  Garrick.  Macklin,  and  Delane  the  actor  (not  Dr. 
Delany,  the  friend  of  Swift,  as  Mr.  Dyce,  in  his  compendious  .Memoir. 
p.  hx.,  states,)  were,  entertained  under  it  by  Sir  Hugh  Clopton.  New 
Place  remained  in  possession  of  Shakespeare's  successors  until  the 
Restoration  ;  it  was  then  repurchased  by  the  Clopton  family  :  about 
17.~>:>  it  was  sold  by  the  executor  of  Sir  Hugh  Clopton  to  a  clergyman 
of  the  name  of  Gastrell,  who,  on  some  offence  taken  at  the  authorities 
of  the  borough  of  Stratford  on  the  subject  of  rating  the  house,  pulled 
it  down,  and  cut  down  the  mulberry  tree.  According  to  a  letter  in 
the  Annual  Register  of  I7u'0.  the  wood  was  bought  by  a  silversmith, 
•who  "  made  many  odd  things  of  it  for  the  curious."  In  our  tune  wa 
have  seen  as  many  relics,  said  to  have  been  formed  from  this  one 
mulberry  tree,  as  could  hardly  have  been  furnished  by  all  the  mul- 
berry trees  in  the  county  of  Warwick. 


CxllV  THE    LIFE    OF 

Alleyn  thought  of  trying  the  experiment  in  a  different  part 
of  the  town,  and  on  the  Middlesex  side  of  the  water.  Thea- 
tres being  at  this  date  merely  wooden  structures,  and  much 
frequented,  they  would  soon  fall  into  decay,  especially  in  a 
marshy  situation  like  that  of  the  Bankside :  so  damp  was 
the  soil  in  the  neighbourhood,  that  the  Globe  was  surrounded 
by  a  moat  to  keep  it  dry  ;  and,  although  we  do  not  find  the 
fact  any  where  stated,  it  is  most  likely  that  the  Rose  was 
similarly  drained.  The  Rose  was  in  the  first  instance,  and 
as  fur  back  as  the  reign  of  Edward  VL,  a  house  of  entertain- 
ment with  that  sign,  and  it  was  converted  into  a  theatre  by 
Henslowe  and  a  grocer  of  the  name  of  Cholmley  about  the 
year  1584 ;  but  it  seems  to  have  early  required  considerable 
reparations,  and  they  might  be  again  necessary  prior  to 
1599,  when  Henslowe  and  Alleyn  resolved  to  abandon 
Southwark  However,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  they 
would  not  have  continued  where  they  were,  recollecting  the 
convenient  proximity  of  Paris  Garden,  (where  bears,  bulls, 
<fec.  were  baited,  and  in  which  they  were  also  jointly  inter- 
ested) but  for  the  success  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  players 
at  the  Globe,  which  had  been  in  use  four  or  five  years1 

»  We  may  be  disposed  to  assign  the  following  lines  to  about  this 
period,  or  a  little  earlier:  they  relate  to  some  theatrical  wager  in 
which  Alleyn,  of  the  Lord  Admiral's  players,  was,  for  a  part  not 
named,  to  be  matched  against  Kempe,  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
servants.  By  the  words  "  Will's  new  play,"  there  can  be  little  doubt 
that  some  work  by  Shakespeare  was  intended ;  and  we  know  from 
Heywood's  -'Hierarchic  of  the  Blessed  Anpels,"  1635.  that  Shake- 
speare was  constantly  familiarly  called  "  Will."  The  document  is 
preserved  at  Dulwich,  and  it  was  first  printed  in  the  "  Memoir*  of 
Edwarl  Alleyn,"  p.  li 

"  Sweet  Nedde,  nowe  wynne  an  other  wager 

For  thine  old  frende.  and  fellow  stager. 

Tarlton  himselfe  thou  doest  excell, 

And  Eentley  beate,  and  conquer  Knell, 

And  now  shall  Kempe  orecome  as  well. 

The  moneyes  downe.  the  place  the  Hope  i 

Phillippes  shall  hide  his  head  and  Pope. 

Feare  not,  the  victorie  is  thine  ; 

Thou  still  as  inacheles  Ned  shall  shyne. 

If  Roscius  Richard  foames  and  fumes, 

The  Globe  shall  have  but  emptie  roomes, 

If  thou  doest  act  ;  and  Willes  newe  playe 

Shall  be  rchearst  some  other  daye. 

Consent,  then,  Nedde  ;  do  us  this  grace  : 

Thou  cannot  faile  in  anie  case  ; 

For  in  the  triall,  come  what  maye. 

All  sides  shall  brave  Ned  Allin  save." 

By  "Roscius   Richard  "  the  writer  of  these   lines,  who  was  the 

^"j   ,,Alleyn   aSainst   Kempe.  could   have    meant   nobody   but 

Richard  Burbape.     It  will  be  recollected,  that  not  very  long  after- 

<ls  hempe  became  a  member  of  the  association  of  which  Alleyn 

»*  the  leader,  and  quitted  that  to  which  Shakespeare  and  Burba-re 

were  attached.     It  is  possible  tha;  this  wager,  and   Kempe's  success 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXv 

Henalowe  and  Alleyn  seem  to  have  found,  that  neither  tbdi 
plays  nor  their  players  could  stand  the  competition  of  their 
rivals,  and  they  accordingly  removed  to  a  vicinity  where  no 
play-house  had  previously  existed. 

The  Fortune  theatre  was  commenced  in  Golding  Lane, 
Cripplegate,  in  the  year  1599,  and  finished  in  1600,  and 
thither  without  delay  Henslowe  and  Alleyn  transported 
their  whole  dramatic  establishment,  strengthened  in  the 
epring  of  1602  by  the  addition  of  that  great  and  popular 
comic  performer,  William  Kempe1.  The  association  at  the 
Globe  was  then  left  in  almost  undisputed  possession  of  the 
Bankside.  There  were,  indeed,  occasional,  and  perhaps  not 
unfrequent,  performances  at  the  Rose,  (although  it  had  been 
stipulated  with  the  public  authorities  that  it  should  be 
pulled  down,  if  leave  were  given  for  the  construction  of  the 
Fortune)  as  well  as  at  the  Hope  and  the  Swan,  but  not  by 
the  regular  associations  which  had  previously  occupied 
them ;  and  after  the  Fortune  was  opened,  the  speculation 
there  was  so  profitable,  that  the  Lord  Admiral's  players 
had  no  motive  for  returning  to  their  old  quarters". 

The  members  of  the  two  companies  belonging  to  the 
Lord  Chamberlain  and  to  the  Lord  Admiral  appear  to  have 
possessed  so  much  influence  hi  the  summer  of  1600,  that 
(backed  perhaps  by  the  puritanical  zeal  of  those  who  were 
unfriendly  to  all  theatrical  performances)  they  obtained  an 
order  from  the  privy  council,  dated  22d  June,  that  no  other 
public  pky-houses  should  be  permitted  but  the  Globe  in 
Surrey,  and  the  Fortune  in  Middlesex  Nevertheless,  the 
privy  council  registers,  where  this  order  is  inserted,  also 
contain  distinct  evidence  that  it  was  not  obeyed,  even  in 
May  1601 ;  for  on  the  10th  of  that  month  the  Lords  wrote 
to  certain  magistrates  of  Middlesex  requiring  them  to  put  a 
stop  to  the  performance  of  a  play  at  the  Curtain,  in  which 
were  introduced  "  some  gentlemen  of  good  desert  and 
quality,  that  are  yet  alive,"  but  saying  nothing  about  the 

in  it,  led  Alleyn  and  Henslowe  to  hold  out  inducements  to  him  to 
ioin  them  in  their  undertaking  at  the  1'ortune.  Upon  this  point, 
however,  we  have  no  other  evidence,  than  the  mere  fact  that  Kempa 
went  over  to  the  enemy. 

i  After  his  return  from  Rome,  where  he  was  seen  in  the  autumn 
if  1601. 

"  It  was  at  the  Fortune  that  Alleyn  seems  to  have  realized  so  much 
.•noney  in  the  few  first  years  of  the  undertaking,  that  he  was  able  in 
NOT.  1604  to  purchase  the  manor  of  Kennington  for  £1005.  and  in  tht 
next  year  the  manor  of  Lewisham  and  Dulwich  for  £5000.  Thes« 
two  sums,  in  money  of  the  present  day,  would  be  equal  to  at  leasf 
£-2.3.000  ;  but  it  is  to  be  observed  that  for  Duiwich,  Alleyn  only  paid 
£2000  down,  while  the  remaining  sum  was  left  upon  mortgage.  IB 
the  commencement  of  the  seventeenth  century  theatrical  specu  lationi 
generally  seem  to  have  been  highly  lucrative.  See  "The  Alleyn 
Papers.  '  (printed  by  the  Shakespeare  Society,)  p  xiv. 


THR    LIFE    OF 

cl<-:inir  of  the  house,  although  it  -was  open  in  defiance  of  the 
imperative  command  of  the  preceding  year.  We  know 
also  upon  other  testimony,  that  not  only  the  Curtain,  but 
theatres  on  the  Banksidc,  besides  the  Globe,  (where  per- 
formances were  allowed)  were  then  in  occasional  use.  It  is 
fair  to  presume,  therefore,  that  the  order  of  the  22d  June, 
1600,  was  never  strictly  enforced,  and  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  circumstances  of  the  times  is,  the  little  atten- 
tion, as  regards  theatricals,  that  appears  to  have  been  paid 
to  the  absolute  authority  of  the  court  It  seems  exactly  as 
if  restrictive  measures  had  been  adopted  in  order  to  satisfy 
the  importunity  of  particular  individuals,  but  that  there  was 
no  disposition  on  the  part  of  persons  in  authority  to  carry 
them  into  execution.  Such  was  probably  the  fact  ;  for  a 
year  and  a  half  after  the  order  of  the  22d  June  had  been 
issued  it  was  renewed,  but,  as  far  as  we  can  learn,  with  just 
as  little  effect  as  before.1 

Besides  the  second  edition  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet  "  in 
1599,  (which  was  most  likely  printed  from  a  play-house 
manuscript,  being  very  different  from  the  mutilated  and 
manufactured  copy  of  1597)  five  plays  by  our  great  dra- 
matist found  their  way  to  the  press  in  1600,  viz.  "  Titus  An- 
dronicus,"  (which  as  we  have  before  remarked  had  probably 
been  originally  published  in  1594)  "The  Merchant  of  Ve- 
nice," "  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream","  "  Henry  IV."  part 

i  See  "Hist.  Engl.  Dram.  Poetry  and  the  Stage."  Vol.  i.  p.  318, 
where  the  particulars,  which  are  here  necessarily  briefly  and  summa- 


rily dismissed,  are  given  in  detail. 

a  The  clothing  of  Snug  the  joiner  in  a  "lion's  fell  "  in  this  play, 
Aet  v.  so.  1,  seems  to  have  suggested   the  humorous  speech  to  King 


James  at  Linlithgow,  on  30th  June  1617,  eight  lines  of  which  only 
are  given  in  Nichols's  "  Progresses  ''  of  that  monarch.  Vol.  lii.  p.  :j2ti. 
The  whole  address,  of  twenty-two  lines,  exists  in  the  State  Paper 
office,  where  it  was  discovered  by  Mr.  Lemon.  It  seems  to  have  been 
the  original  MS.  which  was  placed  at  the  time  in  the  hands  of  the 
king,  and  as  it  is  a  curiosity,  we  subjoin  it. 

came  to  the  gate  of  the  towne,  in  the  midst  of  which  was  a  lyon' 
and  in  the  lyon  a  man,  who  delivered  this  learned  speech  to  hii 
HUJestie. 

"Most  royall  sir,  heere  I  doe  you  beseech, 

Who  are  a  lyon,  to  hear  a  lyon's  speech  ; 

A  miracle  ;  for  since  the  dayes  of  jEsop, 

Till  ours,  noe  lyon  yet  his  voice  did  hois-up 

To  such  a  Majestie.     Then.  King  of  Men. 

The  king  of  beasts  speaks  to  the?  from  his  denn, 

A  lountaine  nowe.     That  lyon,  which  was  ledd 

By  Androdus  through  Rome,  had  not  a  head 

More  rationall  then  this,  bredd  in  this  nation, 

Whoe  in  thy  presence  warbleth  this  oration. 

For  though  he  heer  inclosed  bee  in  plaister, 

When  he  was  free  he  was  this  townes  school-mast* 

This  Well  you  see,  is  not  that  Arethusa, 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  Cxlvii 

ii.,  and  "  Much  Ado  about  Nothing."  Tht  last  only  was  r.ot 
mentioned  by  Meres  in  1598  ;  and  as  to  the  periods  when 
we  may  suppose  the  others  to  have  been  written,  we  must 
refer  the  reader  to  our  several  Introductions,  where  we 
have  given  the  existing  information  upon  the  subject.  "  The 
Chronicle  History  of  Henry  V.'1  also  came  out  in  the  same 
year,  but  without  the  name  of  Shakespeare  upon  the  title- 
page,  and  it  is,  if  possible,  a  more  imperfect  and  garbled 
representation  of  the  play,  as  it  proceeded  from  the  author's 
pen,  than  the  "  Romeo  and  Juliet "  of  1597.  Whether  any 
of  the  managers  of  theatres  at  this  date  might  not  some- 
times be  concerned  in  selling  impressions  of  dramas,  we 
have  no  sufficient  means  of  deciding ;  but  we  do  not  believe 
it,  and  we  are  satisfied  that  dramatic  authors  in  general 
were  content  with  disposing  of  their  plays  to  the  several 
companies,  and  looked  for  no  emolument  to  be  derived 
from  publication1.  We  are  not  without  something  like 
proof  that  actors  now  and  then  sold  their  parts  in  plays  to 
booksellers,  and  thus,  by  the  combination  of  them  and  other 
assistance,  editions  of  popular  plays  were  surreptitiously 
printed. 

We  ought  not  to  pass  over  without  notice  a  circumstance 
which  happened  in  1600,  and  is  connected  with  the  question 
of  the  authorized  or  unauthorized  publication  of  Shake 
speare's  plays.  In  that  year  a  quarto  impression  of  a  play, 
called  "  The  first  part  of  the  true  and  honourable  History 
of  the  Life  of  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  the  good  Lord  Cobham," 
came  out,  on  the  title-page  of  which  the  name  of  William 
Shakespeare  appeared  at  length.  We  find  by  Heuslowe'a 
Diary  that  this  drama  was  in  fact  the  authorship  of  four 
poets,  Anthony  Muuday,  Michael  Drayton,  Robert  Wilson 
and  Richard  Hathway  ;  and  to  attribute  it  to  Shakespeare 
was  evidently  a  mere  trick  by  the  bookseller,  T[homas] 
P[avier],  in  the  hope  that  it  would  be  bought  as  his  work. 

The  Nymph  of  Sicile  :  Noe,  men  may  carous  a 
Health  of  the  plump  Ly<eus,  noblest  grapes, 
From  these  faire  conduits,  and  turne  drank  iike  apes. 
This  second  spring  I  keep,  as  did  that  dragon 
Hesperian  apples.     And  nowe,  sir,  a  plague  on 
This  your  poore  towne,  if  to  't  you  bee  not  welcome  ! 
But  whoe  can  doubt  of  this,  when,  loe  !  a  Well  come 
Is  nowe  unto  the  gate  ?     I  would  say  more, 
But  words  now  failing,  dare  not,  least  I  roare. 

The  ei^ht  lines  in  Nichols's  "  Progresses  of  James  I."  are  from 
Drummond's  Poem,  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  whola 
speech  was  from  his  pen. 

i  It  was  a  charge  against  Robert  Greene,  that,  driven  by  the  pres- 
sure of  necessity,  he  had  on  one  occasion  raised  money  by  making 
"  a  double  sale  "  of  his  play  called  "  Orlando  Furioso,"  1594.  first  to 
Ihe  players  and  afterwards  i.-  the  press,  fcuch  may  have  been  th» 
fact,  but  it  was  unquestionably  an  exception  to  the  ordinary  rale. 


CxlviH  THE    LIFE    OF 

Mai  one  remarked  upon  this  fraud,  but  lie  was  not  aware^ 
wh«n  he  wrote,  that  it  had  boen  detected  and  coirected  at 
the  time,  for  since  his  day  more  than  one  copy  of  the  "  First 
Part,  <fcc.  of  Sir  John  Oldcastle  "  has  come  to  light,  upon 
the  title-page  of  which  no  name  is  to  be  found,  the  book- 
seller apparently  having  been  compelled  to  cancel  the  leaf 
containing  it.  From  the  indifference  Shakespeare  seems 
uniformly  to  have  displayed  on  matters  of  the  kind,  we 
may,  possibly,  conclude  that  the  cancel  was  made  at  the 
instance  of  one  of  the  four  poets  who  were  the  real  authors 
of  the  play  ;  but  we  have  no  means  of  speakir<g  decisively 
upon  the  point,  and  the  step  may  have  been  iii  some  way 
connected  with  the  objection  taken  by  living  members  of  the 
Oldcastle  family  to  the  name,  which  had  been  aseigned  by 
Shakespeare  in  the  first  instance  to  Falstaff1. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Death  of  John  Shakespeare  in  1601.  Performance  of"  Twelfth 
Night"  in  February,  1602.  Anecdote  of  Shakespeare  and 
Burbage  :  Manningham's  Diary  in  the  British  Museum  the 
authority  for  it.  "  Othello,"  acted  by  Burbage  and  others 
at  the  Lord  Keeper's  in  August,  1602.  Deatli  of  Elizabeth, 
and  Arrival  of  James  I.  at  Theobalds.  English  actors  in 
Scotland  in  15S9,  and  again  in  1599,  1600,  and  1601  :  large 
rewards  to  them.  The" freedom  of  Aberdeen  conferred  in 
1601  upon  Laurence  Fletcher,  the  leader  of  the  English 
company  in  Scotland.  Probability  that  Shakespeare  never 
was  in  Scotland. 

THK  father  of  our  great  poet  died  in  the  autumn  of  1601, 
and  he  was  buried  at  Stratford-upon-Avon*.  He  seems  to 
have  left  no  will,  and  if  he  possessed  any  property,  in  hind 
or  houses,  not  made  over  to  his  family,  we  know  not  how  it 
was  divided.  Of  the  eight  children  which  his  wife,  Mary 
Ardeu,  had  brought  him,  the  following  were  then  alive,  and 
might  be  present  at  the  funeral :— William,  Gilbert,  Joau, 
Riohard,  and  Edmund.  The  latter  years  of  John  Shake- 
speare (who,  if  born  in  1530  as  Malone  supposed,  was  in 
his  seveuty-fii-st  year)  were  doubtless  easy  and  comfortable, 
and  the  prosperity  of  his  eldest  son  must  have  placed  him 
beyond  the  reach  of  pecuniary  difficulties. 

Early  in  the  spring  ol  1602,  we  meet  with  one  of  those 

1  See  the  Introduction  to  "  henry  IV."  Part  I. 

1  On  the  ,-th  September,  as  we  find  by  the  subsequent  entry  in  the 

•'  1001.   Stptcmbr.  8.     Mr.  ./„*„«<*•  Shakspeare." 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 

rare  facts  which  distinctly  show  how  uncertain  all  conjec- 
ture must  be  respecting  the  date  when  Shakespeare's  dramas 
were  originally  written  and  produced.  Malone  and  Tyr- 
whitt,  in  179U,  conjectured  that  "  Twelfth  Night"  had  been 
written  in  1614:  in  his  second  edition  Malone  altered  't  to 
16U7,  and  Chalmers,  weighing  the  evidence  in  favour  of 
one  date  and  of  the  other,  thought  neither  correct,  and  fixed 
upon  1613',  an  opinion  in  which  Dr.  Drake  fully  concurred2. 
The  truth  is,  that  we  have  irrefragable  evidence,  from  au 
eye-witness,  of  its  existence  on  2nd  February,  1602,  when 
it  was  played  at  the  Reader's  Feast  in  the  Middle  Temple. 
This  eye-witness  was  a  barrister  of  the  name  of  Manmng- 
hanii  vho  left  a  Diary  behind  him,  which  has  been  pre- 
served in  the  British  Museum ;  but  as  we  have  inserted  his 
account  of  the  plot  in  our  introduction  to  the  comedy,  (VoL 
iii.  p.  317)  no  more  is  required  here,  than  a  mere  mention 
of  the  circumstance.  However,  in  another  part  of  the  same 
manuscript3,  he  gives  an  anecdote  of  Shakespeare  and  Bur- 
bage,  which  we  quote,  without  farther  remark  than  that  it 
has  been  supposed  to  depend  upon  the  authority  of  Nicho- 
las Tooley4,  but  on  looking  at  the  original  record  again,  we 
doubt  whether  it  came  from  any  such  source.  A  "  Mr. 
Towse  "  is  repeatedly  introduced  as  a  person  from  whom 
Mauuiugham  derived  information,  and  that  name,  though 
blotted,  seems  to  be  placed  at  the  end  of  the  paragraph, 
certainly  without  the  addition  of  any  Christian  name.  This 
circumstance  may  make  some  difference  as  regards  the  au- 
thenticity of  the  story,  because  we  know  not  who  Mr 
Towse  might  be,  while  we  are  sure  that  Nichoks  Tooley 
was  a  fellow-actor  in  the  same  company  as  both  the  indi- 
viduals to  whom  the  story  relates.  At  the  same  time  it 
was,  very  possibly,  a  mere  invention  of  the  "  roguish  play- 
ers," originating,  as  was  often  the  case,  in  some  older  joke, 
and  applied  to  Shakespeare  and  Burbage,  because  their 
Christian  names  happened  to  be  William  and  Richard5. 


1  Supplemental  Apology,  &c.  p.  467. 
a  Shakspeare  and  his  Times,  vol.  ii.  p. 
'  MS.  Hurl.  No. 


*  Hist,  of  Engl.  Dram.  Poetry  and   the  Stage,  vol.  i.  p.  331.     Th« 
Christian  name  is  wanting  in  the  Harl.  MS. 

*  See   "Hist.  Engl.  Dram.  Poetry  and  the  Stage,"  vol.  i.  p.  £31. 
The  writer  of  that  work  thus  introduces  the  anecdote  : — "  If  in  th« 

ol   my  in 
find  anyt 

favourable  light,  as  a  human  being  with  human  infirmities,  I  may 
lament  it,  but  I  do  not  therefore  feel  myself  at  liberty  to  conceal  and 
•oppress  the  fact  ''  The  anecdote  is  this. 

Upon  a  tyme  when  Burbage  played  Rich.  3,  there  was  a  citizen 
farre  in   liking  with  him,  that  before  shee  went  from  th« 


course  of  my  inquiries,  I  have  been  unlucky  enough  (I  may  perhaps 
nay)  to  find  anything  which  represents  our  great  dramatist  in  a  lesa 
favourable  light,  as  a  human   being  with  human  infirmities 
lament  it,  but  I  do  not  therefore  feel  myself  at  liberty  to  conc 
•oppress  the  fact  ''     The  anecdote  is  this. 

Upon  a  tyme  when  Burbage  played  Rich.  3,  there  was  a 
tfitw  so  farre  in  liking  with  him,  that  before  shee  went  fr 
pla',  shee  appointed  him  to  come  that  night  unto  her,  by  th 
of  Rich.  th»  ;{  Shakespeare,  overhearing  their  conclusion,  w 


went 


d  THE    LIFE    OF 

Elizabeth,  from  the  commencement  of  her  reign,  seems 
to  have  extended  her  personal  patronage,  as  well  as  hei 
public  countenance,  to  the  drama ;  and  scarcely  a  Christmas 
or  a  Shrovetide  can  be  pointed  out  during  the  forty-five 
years  she  occupied  the  throne,  when  there  were  not  dra- 
matic entertainments,  either  at  Whitehall,  Greenwich,  None- 
such, Richmond,  or  Windsor.  The  latest  visit  she  paid  to 
any  of  her  nobility  in  the  country  w:is  to  the  Lord  Keeper, 
Sir  Thomas  Egerton,  at  Harefield,  only  nine  or  ten  months 
before  her  death,  and  it  was  upon  this  occasion,  in  the  very 
beginning  of  August,  1602,  that  "  Othello1 "  (having  been 
got  up  for  her  amusement,  and  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
players  brought  down  to  the  Lord  Keeper's  seat  in  Hert- 
fordshire for  the  purpose)  was  represented  before  her.  In 
this  case,  as  in  the  preceding  one  respecting  "  Twelfth 
Night,"  all  that  we  positively  learn  is  that  such  drama  was 
performed,  and  we  are  left  to  infer  that  it  was  a  new  play 
from  other  circumstances,  as  well  as  from  the  fact  that  it 
was  customary  on  such  festivities  to  exhibit  some  drama 
that,  as  a  novelty,  was  then  attracting  public  attention. 
Hence  we  are  led  to  believe,  that  "Twelfth  Night"  (not 
printed  until  it  formed  part  of  the  folio  of  1623)  was  writ- 
ten at  the  end  of  1600,  or  in  the  beginning  of  1601 ;  and 
that  "  Othello"  (h'rst  published  in  4to,  1622,) came  from  the 
author's  pen  about  a  year  afterwards. 

In  the  memorandum  ascertaining  the  performance  of 
"  Othello  "  at  Harefield,  the  company  by  which  it  was  re- 
presented is  called  "  Burbages  Players,"  that  designation 
arising  out  of  the  fact,  that  he  was  looked  upon  as  the 
leader  of  the  association  :  he  was  certainly  its  most  cele- 
brated actor,  and  we  find  from  other  sources  that  he  waa 
the  representative  of  "  the  Hoor  of  Venice2."  Whether 

fore,  was  entertained,  and  at  his  game  ere  Burbage  came.  Then, 
message  being  brought,  that  Rich,  the  :i.  was  at  the  dore,  Shake- 
speare caused  returne  to  be  made,  that  William  the  Conqueror  wa» 
before  Rich,  the  3.  Shakespeare's  name  Willm." 

This  story  may  be  a  piece  of  scandal,  but  there  is  no  doubt  that 
Burbage  was  the  original  Richard  III.  As  to  the  custom  of  ladies 
inviting  players  home  to  supper,  see  Middleton's  •'  Mad  World,  my 
Masters,"  Act  v.  so.  2.  in  "  Dodsley's  Old  Plays."  last  edit.  The 
players,  in  turn,  sometimes  invited  the  ladies,  as  we  find  by  Field'* 

Amends  for  Ladies,1'  Act  iii.  sc.  4,  in  the  supplementary  volume  to 
''  Dodsley's  Old  Plays."  published  in  1-29. 

1  See  the  •'  Introduction  "  to  •'  Othello."  Also  "  The  Egerton  Pa- 
pers." printed  by  the  Camden  Society,  Is40.  p.  343. 

3  In  a  former  note  we  have  inserted  the  names  of  some  of  the  prin- 
cipal characters,  in  plays  of  the  lime  sustained  by  Burbage.  as  they  are 
given  in  the  Epitaph  upon  his  death,  in  1019.     Our  readers  may  like 
to  see  the  manner  in  which  these  characters  are  spoken  of  by  the  con- 
temporaneous versifier.     The  production  opens  with  this  couplet  :- 
"  Some  skilful  limner  help  me,  if  not  so, 
Some  sad  trag.  slian  to  express  iny  wc« ;" 


WILMAM    SHAKESPEARE.  fll 

Shakespeare  had  any  and  what  part  in  the  tragedy,  either 
then  or  upon  other  occasions,  is  not  known  ;  but  we  do  not 
think  any  argument,  one  way  or  the  other,  is  to  be  drawn 
from  the  fact  that  the  company,  when  at  Harefield,  does 
not  seem  to  have  been  under  his  immediate  government. 
Whethei  he  was  or  was  not  one  of  the  "  players "  in 
"Othello,"  in  August  1602,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  as 
an  actor,  and  moreover  as  one  "  excellent  in  his  quality,"  he 
must  have  been  often  seen  and  applauded  by  Elizabeth, 
Chettle  informs  us  after  her  death,  in  a  passage  already 
quoted,  that  she  had  "  opened  her  royal  ear  to  his  lays ;" 
out  this  was  obviously  in  his  capacity  of  dramatist,  and  we 
have  no  direct  evidence  to  establish  that  Shakespeare  bad 
ever  performed  at  Court'. 

which  certainly  does  not  promise  much  in  the  way  of  excellence  , 

but  the  enumeration  of  parts  is  all  that  is  valuable,  and  it  is  this  : 

"  No  more  young  Hamlet,  though  but  scant  of  breath 

Shall  cry,  Revenge  !  for  his  dear  father's  death  • 

Poor  Romeo  never  more  shall  tears  beget 

For  Juliet's  love,  and  cruel  Capulet : 

Harry  shall  not  be  seen  as  King  or  Prince, 

They  died  with  thee,  dear  Dick,— 

Not  to  revive  again.     Jeronimo 

Shall  cease  to  mourn  his  son  Horatio. 

They  cannot  call  thee  from  thy  naked  bed 

By  horrid  outcry  :  and  Antonio's  dead. 

Edward  shall  lack  a  representative  ; 

And  Crookback,  as  befits,  shall  cease  to  lire. 

Tyrant  Macbeth,  with  unwash'd  bloody  hand. 

We  vainly  now  may  hope  to  understand. 

Brutus  and  Marcius  henceforth  must  be  dumb, 

For  ne'er  thy  like  upon  our  stage  shall  come, 

To  charm  the  faculty  of  ears  and  eyes, 

Unless  we  could  command  the  dead  to  rise. 

Vindex  is  gone,  and  what  a  loss  was  he  ! 

Frankford,  Brachiano,  and  Malevole. 

Heart-broke  Philaster,  and  Amintas  too, 

Are  lost  for  ever,  with  the  red-haird  Jew, 

Which  sought  the  bankrupt  Merchant's  pound  of  Jle»k 

By  woman-lawyer  caught  in  his  own  mesh.   •  *  * 

And  his  whole  action  he  would  change  with  ease 

From  ancient  Lear  to  youthful  Pericles. 

But  let  me  not  forget  one  chiefest  part 

Wherein. beyond  the  rest,  he  mov'd  the  heart ; 

The  grieved  Moor,  made  jealous  by  a  slave, 

Who  sent  his  wife  to  fill  a  timeless  grave, 

Then  slew  himself  upon  the  bloody  bed. 

All  these,  and  many  more,  with  him  are  dead,"  &o. 
The  MS.  from  which  the  above  lines  are  copied  seems,  at  least  in''* 
place,  defective,  but  it  might  be  cured  by  the  addition  of  the  wo»J» 
'•'  and  not  long  since  " 

i  A  ballad  was  published  on  the  death  of  Elizabeth,  in  the  com. 
mencement  of  which  Shakespeare,  Ben  Jonson,  and  Thomas  Greene,'' 
author  of  "  A  Poet's  Vision  and  a  Prince's  Glorie,"  4to,  1603,  wert 
called  upon  to  contribute  some  verses  in  honour  of  the  late  Queen  : 
"You  poets  all.  brave  Shakespeare,  Johnson,  Greene. 

Bestow  your  time  to  write  for  England's  Queene,"  &o. 


llli  THE    LIFE    OF 

James  I.  reached  Theobalds,  in  his  journey  from  Edin 
mirgh  to  London,  on  the  7th  May,  1603.  Before  he  quitted 
his  own  capital  he  had  had  various  opportunities  of  wit- 
nessing the  performances  of  English  actors;  and  it  is  an  in- 
teresting, but  at  the  same  time  a  difficult  question,  whether 
Shakespeare  had  ever  appeared  before  him,  or,  in  othev 
words,  whether  our  great  dramatist  had  ever  visited  Scot 
land  I  We  have  certainly  no  affirmative  testimony  upon 
the  point,  beyond  what  may  be  derived  from  some  passages 
in  "  Macbeth,"  descriptive  of  particular  localities,  with 
which  passages  our  readers  must  be  familiar:  there  is, 
however,  ample  room  for  conjecture;  and  although,  on  the 
whole,  we  are  inclined  to  think  that  he  was  never  north  of 
the  Tweed,  it  is  indisputable  that  the  company  to  which  he 
belonged,  or  a  part  of  it,  had  performed  in  Edinburgh  and 
Aberdeen,  and  doubtless  in  some  intermediate  places.  We 
will  briefly  state  the  existing  proofs  of  this  fact 

The  year  1599  has  been  commonly  supposed  the  earliest 
date  at  which  an  association  of  English  actors  was  in  Scot- 
land ;  but  it  can  be  shown  beyond  contradiction  that  "  her 
Majesty's  players,"  meaning  those  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  were 
in  Edinburgh  ten  years  earlier1.  In  1589,  Ashby,  the  am- 
bassador extraordinary  from  England  to  James  VI.  of 
Scotland,  thus  writes  to  Lord  Burghley,  under  date  of  the 
22d  October:— 

"My  Lord  Bothw[ell]  begins  to  shew  himself  willing  and 
ready  to  do  her  Majesty  any  service,  and  desires  hereafter  to 
be  thought  of  as  he  shall  deserve  :  he  sheweth  great  kindness 
to  our  nation,  using  her  Majesties  Players  and  Cauoniers  with 
all  courtesie*." 

In  1589,  the  date  of  Ashb/s  dispatch,  Shakespeare  had 
quitted  Stratford  about  three  years,  and  the  question  is, 
what  company  was  intended  to  be  designated  as  "  her  Ma- 
jesty's players."  It  is  an  admitted  fact,  that  in  1583  the 
Queen  selected  twelve  leading  performers  from  the  theat- 

Excepting  for  this  notice  of  "  brave  Shakespeare,"  the  production 
U  utterly  contemptible,  and  must  have  been  the  work  of  some  of  the 
"goblins  and  underelves"  of  poetry,  who,  according  to  a  poem  in  H. 
Chettle's  "England's  Mourning  Garment,"  had  put  forth  upon  the 
fr-casion  "  rude  rhimes.  and  metres  reasonless  " 

1  Between  September,  1589,  and  September.  1590,  Q,ueen  Eliza- 
beth had  sent,  as  a.  present  to  the  young  King  of  Scotland  on  hi* 
marriage,  a  splendid  mask,  with  all  the  necessary  appurtenances, 
and  we  find  it  charged  for  in  the  accounts  of  the  department  of  the 
revels  for  that  period.  See  "Hist,  of  Engl.  Dram.  Poetry  and  the 
Stage,"  vol.  i.  p.  270.  It  is  most  likely  that  the  actors  from  London 
accompanied  this  gift. 

«  From  MS.  Harl.  4647,  being  copies  of  despatches  from  Mr.  Ashby 
to  different  members  of  the  Council  in  London.  We  are  indebted  U 
Mr.  K.  Hill  for  directing  our  attention  to  thin  curious  notice. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  c 

rical  servants  of  some  of  her  nobility,  and  they  were  after- 
wards called  "her  Majesty's  players;"  and  we  alst  now 
know,  that  in  1590  the  Queen  had  two  companies  acting 
under  her  name1 :  in  the  autumn  of  the  preceding  year,  it  ia 
likely1  that  one  of  these  associations  had  been  sent  to  the 
Scottish  capital  for  the  amusement  of  the  young  king,  and 
the  company  formed  in  1583  may  have  been  divided  into 
two  bodies  for  this  express  purpose.  Sir  John  Sinclair,  in 
hiB  "Statistical  Account  of  Scotland,"  established  that  a 
body  of  comedians  was  in  Perth  in  June,  1589 ;  and  al- 
though we  are  without  evidence  that  they  were  English 
players,  we  may  fairly  enough  assume  that  they  were  the 
sanie  company  spoken  of  by  Ashby,  as  having  been  used 
courteously  by  Lord  Bothwell  in  the  October  following. 
We  have  no  means  of  ascertaining  the  names  of  any  of  the 
players,  nor  indeed,  excepting  the  leaders  Laneham  and 
Dutton,  can  we  state  who  were  the  members  of  the  Queen's 
two  companies  in  1590.  Shakespeare  might  be  one  of 
them ;  but  if  he  were,  he  might  not  belong  to  that  division 
of  the  company  which  was  dispatched  to  Scotland. 

It  is  not  at  all  improbable  that  English  actors,  having 
found  their  Way  north  of  the  Tweed  in  1589,  would  speedily 
repeat  their  visit ;  but  the  next  we  hear  of  them  is,  not  until 
after  a  long  interval,  in  the  autumn  of  1599.  The  public 
records  of  Scotland  show  that  in  October,  1599,  (exactly  the 
same  season  as  that  in  which,  ten  years  earlier,  they  are 
spoken  of  by  Ashby)  43/.  6s.  8d.  were  delivered  to  "his 
Highness'  self,'1  to  be  given  to  "  the  English  comedians :"  in 
the  next  month  they  were  paid  41 /.  12s.  at  various  times. 
In  December  they  received  no  less  than  333/.  6*.  8d. ;  in 
April,  1600,  10/.;  and  in  December,  1601,  the  royal  bounty 
amounted  to  400/.* 

Thus  we  see,  that  English  pLiyers  were  in  Scotland  from 
October,  1599,  to  December,  1601,  a  period  of  more  than 
two  years ;  but  still  we  are  without  a  particle  of  proof  that 
Shakespeare  was  one  of  the  association.  We  cannot,  how- 
ever, entertain  a  doubt  that  Laurence  Fletcher,  (whose 
name,  we  shall  see  presently,  stands  first  in  the  patent 
granted  by  King  James  on  his  arrival  in  London)  was  the 
leader  of  the  association  which  performed  in  Edinburgh  and 
elsewhere,  because  it  appears  from  the  registers  of  the  town 
council  of  Aberdeen,  that  on  the  9th  October,  1601,  the 

i  See  Mr  P.  Cunningham's  "  Extracts  from  the  Revels' Accounts," 
(printed  for  the  Shakespeare  Society,)  p.  xxxii. 

3  For  these  particulars  of  payments,  and  some  other  points  con- 
nected with  them,  we  are  indebted  to  Mr.  Laing,  of  Edinburgh,  who 
has  made  extensive  and  valuable  collections  for  a  history  of  the  Stage 
in  Scotland. 
VOL.    I. 


div  THE    LIFE    OF 

English  players  received  32  marks  as  a  gratuity,  and  that 
on  22d  October  the  freedom  of  the  city  was  conferred  upon 
Laurence  Fletcher,  who  is  especially  stvled  "  comedian  to 
bis  Majesty."  The  company  had  arrived  in  Aberdeen,  and 
had  been  received  by  the  public  authorities,  under  the  sane 
tion  of  a  special  letter  from  James  VL;  and,  although  they 
were  in  Aict  the  players  of  the  Queen  of  England,  they 
might  on  this  account  be  deemed  and  treated  as  the  players 
of  the  King  of  Scotland. 

Our  chief  reason  for  thinking  it  unlikely  that  Shakespeare 
would  have  accompanied  his  fellows  to  Scotland,  at  all 
events  between  October,  1599,  and  December,  1601,  is  that, 
as  the  principal  writer  for  the  company  to  which  he  was 
attached,  he  could  not  well  have  been  spared,  and  because 
we  have  good  ground  for  believing  that  about  that  period 
lie  must  have  been  unusually  busy  in  the  composition  of 
plays.  No  fewer  than  five  dramas  seem,  as  far  as  evidence, 
positive  or  conjectural,  can  be  obtained,  to  belong  to  the 
interval  between  1598  and  1602 ;  and  the  proof  appears  to 
us  tolerably  conclusive,  that  "  Henry  V.,"  "  Twelfth  Night," 
and  "  Hamlet,"  were  written  respectively  in  1599, 1600,  and 
1601.  Besides,  as  far  as  we  are  able  to  decide  such  a  point, 
the  company  to  which  our  great  dramatist  belonged  con- 
tinued to  perform  in  London ;  for  although  a  detachment 
under  Laurence  Fletcher  may  have  been  sent  to  Scotland, 
the  main  body  of  the  association  called  the  Lord  Chamber- 
lain's players  exhibited  at  court  at  the  usual  seasons  in 
1599, 1600,  and  16011.  Therefore,  if  Shakespeare  visited 
Scotland  at  all,  we  think  it  must  have  been  at  an  earlier 
period,  and  there  was  undoubtedly  ample  time  between  the 
years  1589  and  1599  for  him  to  have  done  so.  Neverthe- 
less, we  have  no  tidings  that  any  English  actors  were  in  any 
part  of  Scotknd  during  those  ten  years. 

1  The  accounts  of  the  revels'  department  at  this  period  are  not  so 
complete  as  usual,  and  in  Mr.  P.  Cunningham's  book  we  find  no  de- 
tails of  any  kind  between  15S7  and  1004.  The  interval  was  a  perioi 
cf  the  greatest  possible  interest,  as  regards  the  performance  of  the  pro- 
ductions of  Shakespeare,  and  we  earnestly  hope  that  the  misUBf 
ic«c-i»u  may  yet  be  recovered. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

t'roclamatipn  by  James  I.  against  plays  on  Sunday.  Renewal 
of  theatrical  performances  in  London.  Patent  of  May  17th, 
1603,  to  Laurence  Fletcher,  William  Shakespeare,  and 
others.  Royal  patronage  of  three  companies  of  actors. 
Shakespeare's  additional  purchases  in  Stratford-upon-Avon. 
Shakespeare  in  London  in  the  autumn  of  1603 :  and  a  can- 
didate for  the  office  of  Master  of  the  Queen's  Revels.  Cha- 
racters Shakespeare  is  known  to  have  performed.  Hia 
retirement  from  the  stage,  as  an  actor,  after  April  9th,  1604. 

BEFORE  he  even  set  foot  in  London,  James  I.  thought  it  ne- 
cessary to  put  a  stop  to  dramatic  performances  on  Sunday 
This  fact  has  never  been  mentioned,  because  the  proclama 
tiou  he  issued  at  Theobalds  on  7th  May,  containing  the  para- 
graph for  this  purpose,  has  only  recently  come  to  light 
There  had  been  a  long  pending  struggle  between  the 
Puritans  and  the  players  upon  this  point,  and  each  party 
seemed  by  turns  to  gain  the  victory ;  for  various  orders 
were,  from  time  to  tune,  issued  from"  authority,  forbidding 
exhibitions  of  the  kind  on  the  Sabbath,  and  those  orders  had 
been  uniformly  more  or  less  contravened.  We  may  sup- 
pose, that  strong  remonstrances  having  been  made  to  the 
King  by  some  of  those  who  attended  him  from  Scotland,  a 
clause  with  this  special  object  was  appended  to  a  proclama- 
tion directed  against  monopolies  and  legal  extortions.  The 
mure  circumstance  of  the  company  in  which  this  paragraph, 
against  dramatic  performances  on  Sunday,  is  found,  seems 
to  prove  that  it  was  an  after-thought,  and  that  it  was  in- 
serted, because  his  courtiers  had  urged  that  James  ought 
not  even  to  enter  his  new  capital,  until  public  steps  had 
been  taken  to  put  an  end  to  the  profanation1. 

The  King,  having  issued  this  command,  arrived  at  the 
Charter-house  on  the  same  day,  and  all  the  theatrical  com- 
panies, which  had  temporarily  suspended  their  performances, 
began  to  act  again  on  the  9th  May2.  Permission  to  this 

:  The  paragraph  is  in  these  terras,  and  we  quote  them  because  they 
have  not  been  no'.iced  by  any  historian  of  our  stage. 

"And  for  that  we  are  informed,  that  there  hath  been  heretofore 
great  neglect  in  this  kingdome  of  keeping  the  Sabbath  day :  for  the 
better  observing  of  the  same  and  avoyding  all  impious  prophanation. 
We  do  straightly  charge  and  commaund  that  no  Beare-bayting,  Bul- 

lawfuleexerciE«s.  or  pastimes,  be  frequented,  kept,  or  used  at  any  time 
hereafter  upon  the  Sabbath  day. 

Given  at  our  Court  at  Theobalds,  the  7  day  of  May,  in  the 

first  yeare  of  our  Reigne." 

3  This  fact  we  have  upon  the  authority  of  Henslowe's  Piary.  Sf« 
the  Hist.  Engl.  Dram.  1'oetry  and  the  Stage,  vol.  i.  p.  340. 


Clvi  THE    LIFE    OF 

effect  was  given  by  James  L,  and  communicated  througl 
the  ordinary  channel  to  the  players,  who  soon  found  reason 
to  rejoice  in  the  accession  of  the  new  sovereign;  for  ten 
days  after  he  reached  London  he  took  the  Lord  Chamber- 
lain's players  into  his  pay  and  patronage,  calling  them  "  the 
King's  servants,"  a  title  they  always"  afterwards  enjoyed. 
FoAhis  purpose  he  issued  a  warrant,  under  the  privy  seal, 
for  making  out  a  patent  under  the  great  seal1,  authorizing 
the  nine  following  actors,  and  others,  to  perform  in  his  name, 
not  only  at  the  Globe  on  the  Bankside,  but  in  any  part  of 
the  kingdom ;  viz.  Laurence  Fletcher,  William  Shakespeare, 
Richard  Burbage,  Augustine  Phillippes,  John  Hemiuge, 
Henry  Condell,  William  Sly,  Robert  Armyn,  and  Richard 
Cowley. 

»  It  runs  verbatim  et  literatim  thus  : — 
BY  THE  Kixr, 
"  Right  trusty  and  welbeloved  Counsellor,  we  greete  you  well,  and 

for  the  time  being  you  cause  our  letters  to  be  derected  to  the  keepei 
of  our  greate  seale  of  England,  commaunding  him  under  our  said 
greate  Seale,  he  cause  our  letters  to  be  made  patents  in  forme  follow- 
ing. James,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King  of  England.  Scotland.  Fraunce, 
and  Irland,  defendor  of  the  faith.  &c.  To  all  Justices.  Maiors.  Sheriffs, 
Constables.  Headboroughes.  and  other  our  officers  and  loving  subjects 
greeting.  Know  ye.  that  we  of  our  speciall  grace,  certaine  know- 
ledge, and  meere  motion  have  licenced  and  authorized,  and  by  these 
presentes  doe  licence  and  authorize,  these  our  servants.  Lawrence 
Fletcher.  William  Shakespeare,  Richard  Burbage,  Augustine  Phil- 
lippes, John  Hemmings.  Henrie  Condell,  William  Sly,  Robert  Armyn, 
Richard  Oowlye,  and  the  rest  of  their  associats,  freely  to  use  &  exer- 
cise the  arte  and  faculty  of  playing  Comedies.  Tragedies.  Histories, 
Enterludes.  Moralls.  Pastoralls.  Stage  plajes,  and  such  other  like,  as 
that  thei  have  already  studied  or  hereafter  shall  use  or  studie,  aswell 
for  the  recreation  of  our  loving  subjects,  as  for  our  solace  and  plea- 
sure, when  we  shall  thinke  good  to  fee  them,  during  our  pleasure. 
And  the  said  Comedie-s,  Tragedies.  Histories,  Enterludes,  Moralls, 
Pastoralls.  Stage  plaies,  and  such  like,  to  shew  &  exercise  publiquely 
to  their  best  commoditie.  when  the  infection  of  the  plague  shall  de- 
crease, as  well  within  theire  now  usuall  howse  called  the  Globe, 
•within  our  county  of  Surrey,  as  also  within  anie  towne  halls,  or  mout 
halls,  or  other  convenient  places  within  the  liberties  &  freedome  of 
any  other  citie,  universitie.  towne.  or  borough  whatsoever  within  o>  r 
said  realmes  and  dominions.  Willing  and  commaunding  you;  ai.  i 
every  of  you,  as  you  tender  our  pleasure,  not  only  to  permit  and  suffer 
them  heerin,  without  any  your  letts.  hinderances,  or  molestations, 
Juring  our  said  pleasure,  but  also  to  be  ayding  or  assisting  to  them, 
yf  any  wrong  be  to  them  offered.  And  to  allowe  them  such  former 
courtesies,  as  hathe  bene  given  to  men  of  their  place  and  qualitie  : 
and  also  what  further  favour  you  shall  shew  to  these  our  servants  for 
our  sake,  we  shall  take  kindly  at  your  hands.  And  these  our  letters 
shall  be  your  sufficient  warrant  and  discharge  in  this  behalfe.  Given 
under  our  Signet  at  our  mannor  of  Greenewiche,  the  seaventeenth 
Jay  of  May  in  the  first  yere  of  our  raigne  of  England,  France,  and 
Ireland,  &  of  Scotland  the  six  &  thirtieth.  Ex  pf  r  Lake  " 

The  patent  under  the  great  seal,  made  out  in  consequence  of  thii 
ws/>ant,  boars  datu  two  days  afterwards. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  vU 

"We  miss  from  this  list  the  names  of  Thomus  Pope,  Wil- 
liam Kempe,  and  Nicholas  Tooley,  who  had  belonged  to  the 
company  in  1596 ;  ami  instead  of  them  we  have  Laurence 
Fletcher,  Henry  Coudoll,  and  Robert  Armyn,  with  the  ad- 
dition of  Richard  Cowk-y.  Pope  had  been  an  actor  in  1589, 
and  perhaps  in  May,  1603,  was  an  old  man,  for  he  died  in 
the  February  following.  Kempe  had  joined  the  Lord  Ad- 
miral's players  soon  after  the  opening  of  the  Fortune,  on  hia 
return  from  the  Continent,  for  we  find  him  in  Henslowe's 
pay  in  1602.  Nicholas  Tooley  had  also  perhaps  withdrawn 
from  the  association  at  this  date,  or  his  name  would  hardly 
have  been  omitted  in  the  patent,  as  an  established  actor, 
and  a  man  of  some  property  and  influence ;  but  he,  as  well 
as  Kempe,  not  loug  subsequently  rejoined  the  association 
with  which  they  had  been  so  long  connected. 

We  may  assume,  perhaps,  in  the  absence  of  any  direct 
testimony,  that  Laurence  Fletcher  did  not  acquire  his  prom- 
inence in  the  company  by  any  remarkable  excellence  as  an 
actor.  He  had  been  in  Scotland,  and  had  performed  with 
his  associates  before  James  in  1599,  1600,  and  1601,  and  in 
the  latter  year  he  had  been  registered  as  "  his  Majesty's 
Comedian"  at  Aberdeen.  He  might,  therefore,  have  been  a 
favourite  with  the  King,  and  being  also  a  considerable  sharer 
in  the  association,  he  perhaps  owed  his  place  in  the  patent 
of  May,  1603,  to  that  circumstance1.  The  name  of  Shake- 

1  Nothing  seems  to  be  known  of  the  birth  or  origin  of  Laurence 
Fletcher,  (who  died  in  September,  1608,)  but  we  may  suspect  that  he 
was  an  elder  brother  of  John  Fletcher,  the  dramatist.  Bishop  Fletcher, 
the  father,  died  on  15  June,  15'JU,  having  made  his  will  in  October, 
1594,  before  he  was  translated  ii  m  Worcester  to  London.  This  doc- 
Mr.  P.  Cunningham  informs  us,  that  he  had  no  tewer  than  nine 
children,  although  he  only  mentions  his  sons  Nathaniel  and  John  by 
name.  He  died  poor,  and  among  the  Lansdowne  MSS.  is  one.  enti- 
tled u  Reasons  to  move  her  Majesty  to  some  commiseration  towards 
the  orphans  of  the  late  Bishop  of  London,  Dr.  Fletcher:"  this  is 
printed  in  Birch's  "  Memoirs."  He  incurred  the  lasting  displeasure 
of  Queen  Elizabeth  by  marrying,  for  his  second  wife,  Lady  Baker 

believe  general  report,  and  a  satirical  poem  of  the  time,  handed  down 
only  in  manuscript,  which  begins  thus  : — 

'"The  pride  of  prelacy,  which  now  long  since 

Was  banish'd  with  the  Pope,  is  sayd  of  late 
To  have  arriv'd  at  Bristowe,  and  from  thence 

By  Worcester  into  London  brought  his  state. 
It  afterwards  goes  on  thus  : — 

"  The  Romaine  Tarquin,  in  his  folly  blind. 

Of  faire  chaste  Lucrece  did  a  Lais  make  ; 
But  owr  proud  Tarquin  beares  a  braver  mind, 

And  of  a  Lais  doth  a  Lucrece  make." 

We  cannot  venture  to  quote  the  coarse  epithets  liberally  ixrtn-r  *' 
apon  Lady  Baker,  but  the  poem  ends  with  these  lin«s  •-• 


Clviii  THE    LIFE    OF 

speare  comes  next.,  and  as  author,  i-ctor,  and  sharer,  w* 
cannot  be  surprisec.  at  the  situation  be  occupies.  His  pro- 
gress upward,  in  connexion  with  the  profession,  had  been 
gradual  and  uniform  :  in  1589  he  was  twelfth  in  a  company 
of  sixteen  members:  in  1596  he  was  fifth  in  a  company  of 
eight  members ;  and  in  1603  he  was  second  in  a  company 
of  nine  members. 

The  degree  of  encouragement  and  favour  extended  to  ac- 
tors by  James  I.  in  the  very  commencement  of  his  reign  is 
remarkable.  Not  only  did  he  take  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
players  unto  his  own  service,  but  the  Queen  adopted  the 
company  which  had  acted  under  the  name  of  the  Earl  of 
Worcester,  of  which  the  celebrated  dramatist,  Thomas  Hey- 
wood,  was  then  one ;  and  the  Prince  of  Wales  that  of  the 
Lord  Admiral,  at  the  head  of  which  was  Edward  Alleyn, 
the  founder  of  Dulwich  College.  These  three  royal  asso- 
ciations, as  they  may  be  termed,  were  independent  of  others 
under  the  patronage  of  individual  noblemen1. 

The  policy  of  this  course  at  such  a  time  is  evident,  and 
James  I.  seems  to  have  been  impressed  with  the  truth  of 
the  passage  in  "  Hamlet,"  (brought  out,  as  we  apprehend, 
very  shortly  before  he  came  to  the  throne)  where  it  is  said 
of  these  "  abstracts  and  brief  chronicles  of  the  time,"  that 
it  is  "  better  to  have  a  bad  epitaph,  than  their  ill  report  while 
you  live."  James  made  himself  sure  of  their  good  report ; 
and  an  epigram,  attributed  to  Shakespeare,  has  descended 
to  us,  which  doubtless  was  intended  in  some  sort  as  a  grate- 
ful return  for  the  royal  countenance  bestowed  upon  the 
stage,  and  upon  those  who  were  connected  with  it  We 

"  But  yet,  if  any  will  the  reason  find, 

Why  he  that  look'd  as  lofty  as  a  steeple 

Should  be  so  base  as  for  to  come  behind, 
And  take  the  leavings  of  the  commoii  people. 

'T  is  playne  ;  for  in  processions,  you  know, 

The  priest  must  after  all  the  people  goe." 

We  ought  to  have  mentioned  that  the  poem  is  headed  "  Bishop 
Fletcher  and  my  Lady  Baker."  The  Bishop  had  buried  his  first 
wife,  Elizabeth,  at  Chelsea  Church  in  Uecember,  1592.  Nathaniel 
Fletcher,  mentioned  above  as  included  with  his  brother  John  in  hi« 
father's  will,  is  spoken  of  on  a  preceding  page  as  "  servant '\to  Mrs. 
While;  but  who  Mrs.  White  might  be,  or  what  was  the  precise 
nature  of  '•  Nat.  Fletcher's"  servitude,  we  have  no  information. 
_  •  However,  an  Act  of  Parliament  was  very  soon  passed  (1  Jac.  I.  c. 
'))  to  expose  strolling  actors,  although  protected  by  the  authority  of 
a  peer  to  the  penalt.es  of  39  Eliz.  c.  4.  It  seems  to  have  been  found 
that  the  evil  had  increased  to  an  excess  which  required  this  degree 
correction  ;  and  ,<ir  Edward  Coke  in  his  Charge  to  the  Grand  Jury 
at  Norwich  in  1007,  (when  at  was  prir  ted)  observes,  '-The  abuse  of 
stage-players,  wherewith  I  find  the  country  much  troubled,  may 
easily  be  reformed,  they  having  no  commission  to  play  in  any  place 
without  !*ave  ;  and  therefore  by  your  willingness  if  they  be  not  en 
stained  you  may  soon  be  rid  of  them  ''  " 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  clX 

sopy  it  from  a  coeval  manuscript  in  our  possession,  which 
aeems  to  have  belonged  to  a  curious  accumulator  of  mat- 
ters of  the  kind,  aud  which  also  contains  an  unknown  pro- 
duction by  Dekker,  as  well  as  various  other  pieces  by  dra 
raatists  and  poets  of  the  time.  The  lines  are  entitled, 

"  SHAKESPEARE  ON  THE  KING. 

"  Crowns  have  their  compass,  length  of  days  their  date, 
Triumphs  their  tomb,  felicity  her  fate  : 
Of  nought  but  earth  can  earth  make  us  partaker, 
But  knowledge  makes  a  king  most  like  his  Maker." 
We  have  seen  these  lines  in  more  than  one  other  old 
manuscript,   and   as   they  were   constantly   attributed   to 
Shakespeare,  and  in  the  form  in  which  we  have  given  them 
above,  are  in  no  respect  unworthy  of  his  pen,  we  have  little 
doubt  of  their  authenticity  i. 

Having  established  his  family  in  "  the  great  house  "  called 
"New  Place  "  in  his  native  town  in  1597,  by  the  purchase 
of  it  from  Hercules  Underbill,  Shakespeare  seems  to  have 
contemplated  considerable  additions  to  his  property  there. 
In  May,  1602,  he  kid  out  £320  upon  107  acres  of  land, 
which  he  bought  of  William  and  John  Combe2,  and  attached 
i  Boswell  appears  to  have  had  a  manuscript  copy  of  this  epigram, 
out  the  general  position  in  the  last  line  was  made  to  have  a  particu- 
lar application  by  the  change  of  "a"'  to  the.  See  Shakspeare  by 


Boswell,  vol.  ii.  p.  481.  There  were  other  variations  for  the  worse  in 
Boswell's  copy,  but  that  which  we  have  noticed  completely  altered 
the  character  of  the  production,  and  reduced  it  from  a  great  general 
truth  to  a  mere  piece  of  personal  flattery  —  ••  But  knowledge  makes 
the  king  most  like  his  Maker.'1 

2  Much  has   been  said   in  all  the  Lives  of  our  poet,  from  the  time 
of  Aubrey  (who  first  gives  the  story)  to  our  own,  respecting  a  satirical 
epitaph  upon  a  person  of  the  name  of  John  a  Combe,  supposed  to 
have  been  made  extempore  by  Shakespeare  :  Aubrey  words  it  thus  :  —  • 
"Ten  in  the  hundred  the  devil  allows, 

But  Combe  will  have  twelve,  he  swears  and  he  vows. 

If  any  one  ask.  Who  lies  in  ihis  tomb  ? 

Ho  !  quoth  the  devil,  'tis  my  John  a  Combe." 

Rowe  changes  the  terms  a  little,  but  the  point  is  the  same,  and  in 
Brathwaite's  "Remains,"  llilS,  we  have  another  version  of  the  lines, 
where  they  are  given  as  having  been  written  by  that  author  "  upon 
one  John  Combe,  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  a  notable  usurer."  We 
are  by  no  means  satisfied  that  they  were  originally  penned  by  Brath 

•n  ••Maroccus  Extaticus."  a  tract  printed  as  early  as  1595.  it  is  very 
evident  ihat  the  connexion  between  the  Devil  and  John  a  Combe,  or 
John  of  Comber  (as  he  is  there  called)  was  much  older  :  —  "  So  hee  had 
had  his  rent  at  the  daie,  che  devill  and  John  of  Comber  should  not 


have  fetcht  Kate  L.  to  Bridewell."     There  is  no  ground  f>r  supposing 
i   any  of  the  Combes, 


it   Shakespeare  was  ever  on   bad    terms  with 


and  in  his  will  he  expressly  left  his  sword  to  Mr  Thomas  Combe. 
:n  a  MS.  of  that  time,  now  before  us,  we  find  the  following  given 
.nan  epitaph  upon  Sii  William  Stone  : — 

"Heer  ten  in  the  hundred  lies  dead  and  ingraved  : 

But  a  hundred  to  ten  his  soul  is  not  saved." 
And  the  couplet  is  printed  in  no  very  different  form  in  "  The   Mow 


da  THE    LIFE    OF 

it  tj  his  dwelling.  The  original  indenture  and  its  counter 
part  are  in  existence,  bearing  date  1st  May,  1602,  but  t* 
neither  of  them  is  the  signature  of  the  poet  affixed ;  and  it 
seems  that  he  being  absent,  his  brother  Gilbert  was  his  im- 
mediate agent  in  the  transaction,  and  to  Gilbert  Shakespeare 
the  property  was  delivered  to  the  use  of  William  Shake- 
speare. In  the  autumn  of  the  same  year  he  became  the 
owner  of  a  copyhold  tenement  (called  a  cotaffium  in  the 
instrument)  in  Walker's  Street,  alias  Dead  Lane,  Stratford, 
surrendered  to  him  by  Walter  Getley1.  In  November  of 
the  next  year  he  gave  Hercules  Underbill  £60  for  a  mes 
suage,  bam,  granary,  garden,  and  orchard  close  to  or  in  Strat- 
ford;  but  in  the  original  fine,  preserved  hi  the  Chapter  House, 
Westminster,  the  precise  situation  is  not  mentioned.  lu 
1603,  therefore,  Shakespeare's  property,  in  or  near  Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon,  besides  what  he  might  have  bought  of,  or 
inherited  from,  his  father,  consisted  of  New  Place,  with  107 
acres  of  land  attached  to  it,  a  tenement  hi  Walker's  Street, 
and  the  additional  messuage,  which  he  had  recently  pur- 
chased from  Underbill 

Whether  our  great  dramatist  was  in  London  at  the  period 
when  the  new  kiug  ascended  the  throne,  we  have  no  means 
of  knowing,  but  that  he  was  so  in  the  following  autumn  we 
have  positive  proof ;  for  in  a  letter  written  by  Mrs.  Alleyn, 
(the  wife  of  Edward  Alleyn,  the  actor)  to  her  husband, 
then  in  the  country,  dated  20th  October,  1603,  she  tells  him 
that  she  had  seen  "  Mr.  Shakespeare  of  the  Globe "  in 
Southwark'.  At  this  date,  according  to  the  same  authority, 
most  of  the  companies  of  players  who  had  left  London  for 
the  provinces,  on  account  of  the  prevalence  of  the  plague, 
and  the  consequent  cessation  of  dramatic  performances,  had 
returned  to  the  metropolis ;  and  it  is  not  at  all  unlikely  that 
Shakespeare  was  one  of  those  who  had  returned,  having 
taken  the  opportunity  of  visiting  his  family  at  Stratford- 
upou-  Avon. 

Under  Elizabeth  the  Children  of  the  Chapel  (originally 
the  choir-boys  of  the  royal  establishment)  had  become  an 
acknowledged  company  of  players,  and  these,  besides  her 
association  of  adult  performers.  Queen  Anne  took  under 
her  immediate  patronage,  with  the  style  of  the  Children  of 
her  Majesty's  Revels,  requiring  that  the  pieces  they  pro 
posed  to  represent  should  first  be  submitted  to,  and"  have 
the  approval  of,  the  celebrated  poet  Samuel  Daniel  The 

>  A  coeval  copy  of  the  court-roll  is  in  the  hands  of  tlm  Shakespeare 
Society .  Malone  had  seen  it.  and  put  his  initials  upon  it.  Mo  Icubt 
.t  was  his  intention  to  have  used  it  in  his  unfinished  Life  of  Shake- 
ipeare. 

'  &f.e  the  "Memoirs  of  Edward  Alleyn/'  printed  for  the  Shake- 
.pew.  Society,  p.  63. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  cx 

instrument  of  their  appointment  bears  date  30th  January, 
1603—4;  and  from  a  letter  from  Daniel  to  his  patron,  Sil 
Thomas  Egerton,  preserved  among  his  papers,  we  may  per- 
haps conclude  that  Shakespeare,  as  well  as  Michael  Dray- 
ton,  had  been  candidates  for  the  post  of  master  of  the 
Queen's  revels :  he  says  in  it,  "  I  cannot  but  know,  that  I 
am  lease  deserving  than  some  that  sued  by  other  of  the  uo- 
bility  unto  her  Majestic  foi  this  roome  ;"  and,  after  intro- 
ducing the  name  of  "  his  good  friend,'1  Draytou,  he  adds  the 
following,  which,  we  apprehend,  refers  with  sufficient  dis- 
tinctness to  Shakespeare  : — "  It  seemeth  to  myne  humble 
judgement  that  one  who  is  the  authour  of  playes,  uow  daylie 
presented  on  the  public  stages  of  London,  and  the  possessor 
of  no  small  gaiues,  and  moreover  him  selfe  an  actor  in  the 
Kiuges  compauie  of  comedians,  could  not  with  reason  pi<e 
tend  to  be  Master  of  the  Queene's  Majesties  Revells,  for  ae 
much  as  he  wold  sometimes  be  asked  to  approve  and  allow 
of  his  own  writings." 

This  objection  would  have  applied  with  equal  force  to 
Draytou,  had  we  not  every  reason  to  believe  that  before 
this  date  he  had  ceased  to  be  a  dramatic  author.  He  liad 
been  a  writer  for  Henslowe  and  Alleyn's  tompauy  during 
several  years,  first  at  the  Rose,  and  afterwards  at  "the  For- 
tune ;  but  he  seems  to  have  relinquished  that  species  of 
composition  about  a  year  prior  to  the  demise  of  Elizabeth, 
the  last  piece  in  which  he  was  concerned,  of  which  we  have 
any  intelligence,  being  noticed  by  Henslowe  under  date  of 
May,  1502  :  this  play  was  called  "  The  Harpies,"  and  he  waa 
assisted  in  it  by  Dekker,  Middleton,  Webster,  and  Muuday. 

It  is  highly  probable  that  Shakespeare  was  a  suitor  for 
this  office,  in  contemplation  of  a  speedy  retirement  as  an 
actor.  We  have  already  spoken  of  the  presumed  excel- 
lence of  his  personations  on  the  stage,  and  to  the  tradition 
that  he  was  the  original  player  of  the  part  of  the  Ghost  in 
"  Hamlet."  Another  character  he  is  said  to  have  sustained 
is  Adam,  in  "  As  you  like  it;"  and  his  brother  Gilbert, (who 
in  1602  had  received,  on  behalf  William  Shakespeare,  the 
107  acres  of  land  purchased  from  William  and  John  Combe) 
who  probably  survived  the  Restoration,  is  supposed  to  have 
been  the  author  ctf  this  tradition1.  He  had  acted  also  iu 
Ben  Jouson's  "  Every  Man  in  his  Humour,"  in  1 598,  after 
(as  we  believe)  introducing  it  to  the  company ;  and  he  is 
supposed  to  nave  written  part  of,  as  well  as  known  to  have 
performed  in,  the  same  author's  "  Sejanus,"  in  1603s.  This  is 

1  See  the  Introduction  to  "  As  you  like  it." 

»  Fiom  lines  preceding  it  in  the  4to,  1605.  ire  kno-v  that  it  w«u 
brought  out  at  the  Globe,  and  Ben  Jonson  admits  that  it  WLS  il)  I*. 
•.eived  by  the  au-l.ence. 


THE    LIFE    OF 


the  last  we  bear  of  him  upon  the  stage,  but  that  ho  continued 
a  member  of  the  company  until  Ap:-il  9,  1604,  we  havo 
the  evidence  of  a  document  preserved  at  Dulwich  College, 
where  the  names  of  the  King's  players  are  enumerated  in 
the  following  order :— Burbage,  Shakespeare,  Fletcher, 
Phillips,  Condell,  Hemiuge,  Armyn,  Sly,  Cowley,  Ostler, 
and  Day.  If  Shakespeare  had  not  then  actually  ceased  to 
perform,  we  need  not  hesitate  in  deciding  that  he  quitted 
that  department  of  the  profession  very  shortly  afterwards. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


Immediate  consequences  of  Shakespeare's  retirement.    Of- 
fences given  by  the  company  to  the  court,  arid  to  private 
individuals.      "  Gowry's  Conspiracy:"   "Birpn's  Conspi- 
d "  Tragedy."     Suspension  of  theatrical  perform- 
urchase of  a  lease  of  the  tithes  of  Stratford,  &c., 
espeare.     "Hamlet"  printed  in  1603  and   1604. 
VIII."    "  Macbeth."     Supposed  autograph  letter 
ames  to  Shakespeare.    Susanna  Shakespeare  and 


ry' 

racy  "  and  "  Tragedy."  Suspension  of  theatrical  perform- 
ances. Purchase  of  a  lease  of  the  tithes  of  Stratford,  &c., 
by  Shakespeare.  "Hamlet"  printed  in  1603  and  1604. 
"  Henry  V 
of  King  J 

John  Hull  married  in  1607.  Deatli  of  Edmund  Shake- 
speare in  the  same  year.  Death  of  Mary  Shakespeare  in 
1608.  Shakespeare's  great  popularity  :  rated  to  the  poor 
of  Southwark. 


No  sooner  had  our  great  dramatist  ceased  to  take  part  in 
the  public  performances  of  the  King's  players,  than  the 
company  appears  to  have  thrown  off  the  restraint  by  which 
it  had  been  usually  controlled  ever  since  its  formation,  and 
to  have  produced  plays  which  were  objectionable  to  the 
court,  as  well  as  offensive  to  private  persons.  Shakespeare, 
from  his  abilities,  station,  and  experience,  must  have  pos- 
sessed great  influence  with  the  body  at  large,  and  due  de- 
ference, we  may  readily  believe,  was  shown  to  his  know- 
ledge and  judgment  in  the  selection  and  acceptance  of 
plays  sent  in  for  approbation  by  authors  of  the  time.  The 
contrast  between  the  conduct  of  the  association  immediately 
before,  and  immediately  after  his  retirement,  would  lead  us 
to  conclude,  not  only  that  he  was  a  man  of  prudence  and 
discretion,  but  that  the  exercise  of  these  qualities  had  :n 
many  instances  kept  his  fellows  from  incurring  the  displea- 
sure of  persons  in  power,  and  from  exciting  the  animosity 
of  particular  individuals.  We  suppose  Shakespeare  to  have 
ceased  to  act  in  the  summer  of  1604,  and  in  the  winter  of 


that  very  year  we  find  the  King's  players  giving  offence  to 
"some  great  counsellors"  by  performing  a  play  upon  the 
lubject  of  Gowry's  conspiracy.  Tlu's  fact  we  have  upon 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 

the  evidence  of  one  of  Sir  R.  Winwood's  correspondents, 
John  Chamberlaine,  who,  in  a  letter  dated  18th  December, 
1604,  uses  these  expressions: — "The  tragedy  of  Gowry, 
with  all  action  and  actors,  hath  been  twice  represented  by 
the  King's  players,  with  exceeding  concourse  of  all  sorts  of 
people ;  but  whether  the  matter  or  manner  be  not  well 
handled,  or  that  it  be  thought  unfit  that  princes  should  be 
pl.ivi-d  on  the  stage  in  their  lifetime,  I  hear  that  some  great 
counsellors  are  much  displeased  with  it,  and  so,  it  is  thought, 
it  shall  be  forbidden."  Whether  it  was  so  forbidden  we  do 
not  hear  upon  the  same  or  any  other  authority,  but  no  such 
drama  has  come  down  to  us. 

lu  the  next  year  (at  what  particular  part  of  it  is  not 
stated)  Sir  Leonard  Haliday,  then  Lord  Mayor  of  London, 
backed  no  doubt  by  liis  brethren  of  the  corporation,  made 
a  complaint  against  the  same  company,  "  that  Kempe,  (who 
at  this  date  had  rejoined  the  association)  Armyu,  and  others, 
players  at  the  Blackfriars,  have  again  not  forborne  to  bring 
upon  their  stage  one  or  more  of  the  worshipful  aldermen 
of  the  city  of  London,  to  their  great  scandal  and  the  lessen- 
ing of  their  authority ;"  and  the  interposition  of  the  privy 
council  to  prevent  the  abuse  was  therefore  solicited.  What 
was  done  m  consequence,  if  .anything  were  done,  does  not 
appear  in  any  extant  document. 

In  the  spring  of  the  next  year  a  still  graver  charge  was 
brought  against  the  body  of  actors  of  whom  Shakespeare, 
until  very  recently,  had  been  one ;  and  it  originated  in  no 
less  a  person  than  the  French  ambassador.  George  Chap- 
man1 had  written  two  plays  upon  the  history  and  execution 

i  We  may  here  notice  two  productions  by  this  great  and  various 
author,  one  of  which  is  mentioned  by  Ant.  Wood  (Ath.  Oxon.  edit. 
Bliss,  vol.  ii.  p.  575),  and  the  other  by  Warton  (Hist.  Engl.  Poetr. 

to  meet  with  them.  They  are  both  in  existence.  Tl/e  first  is  a  de- 
fence of  his  "Andromeda  Liberata."  1614,  which  he  wrote  in  cele- 
bration of  the  marriage  of  the  Earl  of  Somerset  and  the  Countess  of 
Essex,  which  Chapman  tells  us  had  been  "  most  maliciously  misin- 
terpreted :':  it  is  called  •'  A  free  and  otfenceless  Justification  "  of  his 
poern,  and  it  was  printed  in  1014.  It  is  chiefly  in  prose,  but  at 
the  end  is  a  dialogue  in  rhyme,  between  Pheme  and  Theodines,  the 
last  being  meant  for  Chapman  :  Wood  only  supposes  that  Chapman 
wrote  it,  but  if  he  could  have  read  it  he  would  have  entertained  no 
doubt.  It  appears  that  Somerset  himself  had  conceived  that  1S  An- 
dromeda Liberata  "  was  a  covert  attack  upon  him,  and  from  this  no 
tion  Chapman  was  anxious  to  relieve  himself.  The  poetical  dialogue 
is  thus  opened  by  Pheme,  and  sufficiently  explains  tne  object  of  tin 
writer. 

"  Ho.  you  !  Theodines  !  you  must  not  dreame 
Y'are  thus  dismist  in  peace  :  seas  too  extreame 

Nay,  in  your  haven  you  shipwra^e  :  v'are  unil""" 


Clxir  THE    LIFE    OF 

of  the  Duke  of  Biron,  containing,  in  the  shape  in  which  they 
were  originally  produced  on  the  stage,  such  matter  that  M 
Beaumont,  the  representative  of  the  King  of  Franci-  ii; 
London,  thought  it  necessary  to  remonstrate  against  the  re 
petition,  and  the  performance  of  it  was  prohibited  :  a«  soon, 
however,  as  the  court  had  quitted  London,  the  King's  play- 
ers persisted  in  acciug  it ;  in  consequence  of  which  three 
of  the  players  were  arrested,  (their  names  are  not  givtn) 
but  the  author  made  his  escape.  These  two  dramas  were 
printed  in  1608,  and  again  in  1625  ;  and  looking  through 
then.,  we  are  at  a  loss  to  discover  anything,  beyond  the  his- 
torical incidents,  which  could  have  given  offence  ;  but  the 
truth  certainly  is,  that  all  the  objectionable  portions  were 
omitted  in  the  press  :  there  can  be  no  doubt,  on  the  author- 
ity of  the  despatch  from  the  French  ambassador  to  his 
court,  that  one  of  the  dramas  originally  contained  a  scene 
in  which  the  Queen  of  France  and  Mademoiselle  Verueuil 
were  introduced,  the  former,  after  having  abused  her,  giving 
the  latter  a  box  on  the  ear. 

Tin's  information  was  conveyed  to  Paris  under  the  date 
of  the  5th  April,  1606 ;  and  the  French  ambassador,  appa 
reutly  in  order  to  make  his  court  acquainted  with  the  law- 
less character  of  dramatic  performances  at  that  date  in 
England,  adds  a  very  singular  paragraph,  proving  that  the 
King's  players,  only  a  few  days  before  they  had  brought  the 
Queen  of  France  upon  the  stage,  had  not  hesitated  to  iutro- 
duce  upon  the  same  boards  their  own  reigning  sovereign  in 
a  most  unseemly  manner,  making  him  swear  violently,  and 
beat  a  gentleman  for  interfering  with  his  known  propensity 
for  the  chase.  This  course  indicates  a  most  extraordinary 
degree  of  boldness  on  the  part  of  the  players  ;  but,  never- 
theless, they  were  not  prohibited  from  acting,  until  M. 
Beauminit  had  directed  the  attention  of  the  public  authori- 

Your  Perseus  is  displeas'd,  and  sleighteth  now 
Your  work  as  idle,  and  as  servile  yow. 
The  peoples  god-voice  hath  exclaim'd  away 
Your  mistie  clouds  ;  and  he  sees,  cleare  as  day, 
Y'ave  made  him  scandal'd  for  another?  wrong. 
Wishing  unpublisht  your  unpopular  song.'? 

Thf  other  production,  of  which  our  knowledge  has  also  hitherto 
been  derived  from  the  stationers'  registers,  is  called  ':  Petrarch'* 
Seven  1'enitentiall  Psalms,  paraphrastically  translated."  with  other 
poems  of  a  miscellaneous  kind  at  the  end  :  it  was  printed  in  small 
dvo,  in  Kil-J,  dedicated  to  Sir  Edward  Phillips,  Master  of  the  Rolls, 
where  Chapman  speaks  of  his  yet  unfinished  translation  of  Homer, 
«rh;3h,  he  ^dds.  the  Prince  of  Wales  had  commanded  him  to  com- 
fhe  editor  of  the  present  work  has  a  copy  of  Chapman's 
•Memorable  Masque  "  on  the  marriage  of  the  Palsgrave  and  Princew 
Elizabeth,  corrected  3y  Chapman  in  his  own  hand  ;  but  the  error* 
e  tew,  and  not  very  important.  It  shows  the  patient  accuracy  ol 
tae  acc«-nplUli<>d  vri.vc. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  ClXY 

ties  t<  the  iusult  offered  to  the  Queen  of  France :  then,  an 
order  was  issued  putting  a  stop  to  the  acting  of  all  plays 
in  London ;  but,  according  to  the  same  authority,  the  com- 
panies had  clubbed  their  money,  and,  attacking  James  I.  on 
his  weak  side,  had  offered  a  large  sum  to  be  allowed  to 
continue  their  performances.  The  French  ambassador  him- 
self apprehended  that  the  appeal  to  the  King's  pecuniary 
wants  would  be  effectual,  and  that  permission,  under  certain 
restrictions,  would  not  long  be  withheld1. 

Whatever  emoluments  Shakespeare  had  derived  from  the 
Blackfriars  or  the  Globe  theatres,  as  an  actor  merely,  we 
may  be  tolerably  certain  he  relinquished  when  he  ceased 
to  perform.  He  would  thus  be  able  to  devote  more  of  his 
time  to  dramatic  composition,  and,  as  he  continued  a  sharer 
in  the  two  undertakings,  perhaps  his  income  on  the  whole 
was  not  much  lessened.  Certain  it  is,  that  in  1605  he  was 
iu  possession  of  a  considerable  sum,  which  he  was  anxious 
to  invest  advantageously  in  property  in  or  near  the  place 
of  his  birth.  Whatever  may  have  been  the  circumstances 
under  which  he  quitted  Stratford,  he  always  seems  to  have 
contemplated  a  permanent  return  thither,  and  kept  his  eyes 
constantly  turned  in  the  direction  of  his  birth-place.  As 
long  before  as  January,  1598,  he  had  been  advised  "  to  deal 
in  the  matter  of  tithes"  of  Stratford"  ;  but  perhaps  at  that 

i  We  derive  these  very  curious  and  novel  particulars  from  M.  Von 
Raumer'x  "  History  of  the  Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth  Centuries." 
translated  by  Lord  Francis  Egerton,  vol.  ii.  p. -21'J.  The  terms  are 
•worth  quoting. 

"April  5,  1608.  I  caused  certain  players  to  be  forbid  from  acting 
the  History  of  the  Duke  of  Biron  :  when,  however,  they  saw  that 
the  whole  court  had  left  town,  they  persisted  in  acting  it  ;  nay.  they 
brought  upon  the  stage  the  Queen  of  France  and  .Mademoiselle  Ver- 
nuuil.  The  former,  having  first  accosted  the  latter  with  very  hard 

airested;  but  the  principal  person,  the  author,  escaped. 

•'  One  or  two  days  before,  they  had   brought   forward  their  own 
King  and  all  his  favorites  in  a  very  strange  fashion  :  they  made  him 
because   he   had   been  robbed  of  a  bird,  and   beat  a 


gentleman  because  he  had  called  off  the  hounds  from  the  scent. 
They  rej  resent  him  as  drunk  at  least  once  a-day,  &c. 

"  He  has  upon  this  made  order,  that  no  play  shall  be  henceforth 

offered  100,000  hvres.  Perhaps  the  permission  will  be  again  granted, 
bi  t  upon  condition  that  they  represent  no  recent  history,  nor  speak 
of  the  present  time  " 

*  In  a  letter  from  a  resident  in  Stratford  of  the  name  of  Abraham 
Sturley.  It  was  originally  published  by  Boswell  (vol.  ii.  p.  506)  at 
length,  but  the  only  part  which  relates  to.  Shakespeare  runs  thus  : 
we  have  not  thought  it  necessary  to  preserve  the  uncouth  abbrevia- 
tions of  the  original. 

seemeth  by  him  that  ?ur  countriman,  Mr.  Shakespeare,  is  willing  U 


clxvi  THE    LIFE    OF 

date,  having  recently  purchased  New  Place,  he  was  not  m 
sufficient  funds  for  the  purpose,  or  possibly  the  party  in 
possession  of  the  lease  of  the  tithes,  though  not  unwilling 
to  dispose  of  it,  required  more  than  it  was  deemed  worth 
At  all  events,  nothing  was  done  outhe  subject  for  more  than 
six  years;  but  on  the  24th  July,  1605,' we  fiud  William 
Shakespeare,  who  is  described  as  "of  Stratford-upon-Avon, 
gentleman,"  executing  an  indenture  for  the  purchase  of  the 
uuexpired  term  of  a  long  lease  of  the  great  tithes  of  "  corn, 
grain,  blade,  and  hay,"  and  of  the  small  tithes  of  "  wool, 
lamb,  and  other  small  and  privy  tithes,  herbage,  oblations," 
«feo,  in  Stratford,  uld  Stratford,  Bishopton,  and  Welcombe, 
in  the  county  of  Warwick.  The  vendor  was  Raphe  Hu- 
band,  of  Ippesley,  Esquire  ;  and  from  the  draft  of  the  deed, 
now  before  us1,  we  learn  that  the  original  lease,  dated  as  far 
back  as  1589,  was  "  for  four  score  and  twelve  years ;"  so 
that  in  1605  it  had  still  twenty -six  years  to  run,  and  for 
this  our  great  dramatist  agreed  to  pay  440/ :  by  the  receipt, 
contained  in  the  same  deed,  it  appeal's  that  he  paid  the 
whole  of  the  money  before  it  was  executed  by  the  parties. 
He  might  very  fitly  be  described  as  of  Stmtford-upon 
Avon,  because  he  had  there  uot  only  a  substantial,  settled 
residence  for  his  family,  but  he  was  the  owner  of  consider- 
able property,  both  in  laud  and  houses,  iu  the  town  and 
neighbourhood ;  and  he  had  been  before  so  described  iu 
1602,  when  lie  bought  the  107  acres  of  William  and  John 
Combe,  which  he  annexed  to  his  dwelling  of  New  Place. 

A  spurious  edition  of  "  Hamlet "  having  been  published 
in  1603a,  a  more  authentic  copy  came  out  in  the  next  year, 
containing  much  that  had  been  omitted,  and  more  that  had 
been  grossly  disfigured  and  misrepresented.  We  do  not 
believe  that  Shakespeare,  individually,  had  anything  to  do 
with  this  second  and  more  correct  impression,  and  we  doubt 
much  whether  it  was  authorized  by  the  company,  which 
seems  at  all  times  to  have  done  its  utmost  to  prevent  the 

disburse  some  money  upon  some  od  yardeland  or  other  at  Shottery, 
or  near  about  us :  he  thinketh  it  a  very  fin  patterne  to  move  him  to 
deale  in  the  matter  of  our  tithes.  By  the  instructions  you  can  give 
him  theareof.  and  by  the  frendes  he  can  make  therefore,  we  thinks  it 
s.  faire  marke  for  him  to  shoote  at.  and  not  unpossible  to  hitt.  It  ob- 
tained would  advance  him  in  de'ede,  and  would  do  us  much  good." 
The  terms  of  this  letter  prove  that  Shakespeare's  townsmen  were  of 
opinion  that  he  was  desirous  of  advancing  himself  among  the  in- 
habitants of  Stratford. 

1  It  is  about  tr  be  printed  entire  by  the  Shakespeare  Society,  to  the 
council  of  whii  t  it  has  been  handed  over  by  the  owner  for  th« 
purpose. 

a  The  only  copy  of  this  impression  is  in  the  library  of  his  Grace 
the  Duke  ol  Devonshire,  and  we  have  employed  it  to  a  certain  extent 
IB  settling  and  explaining  the  text  of  the  tragedy.  See  the  Intro- 
duction to  "  Hamlet." 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 

appearance  of  plays  in  print,  lest  toji  certain  extent  the 
public  curiosity  should  thereby  be  satisfied. 

The  point  is,  of  course,  liable  to  dispute,  but  we  hav% 
little  doubt  that  "Henry  VIII."  was  represented  very  soon 
after  the  accession  of  James  L,  to  whom  and  to  whose  family 
it  contains  a  highly  complimentary  allusion ;  and  "  Mac- 
beth," having  been  written  in  1605,  we  suppose  to  have 
been  produced  at  the  Globe  in  the  spring  of  1606.  Al- 
though it  related  to  Scottish  annals,  it  was  not  like  the 
play  of  Gowry's  Conspiracy  "  (mentioned  by  Chamberlaiue 
at  the  close  of  16u3),  founded,  to  use  Von  Raumer's  words, 
upon  "  recent  history  ;'"  and  instead  of  running  the  slightest 
risk  of  giving  offence,  many  of  the  sentiments  and  allusions 
it  contained,  especially  that  to  the  "  two-fold  balls  and  treble 
sceptres,"  in  Act  iv.  scene  1,  must  have  been  highly  accept- 
able to  the  King.  It  has  been  supposed,  upon  the  authority 
of  Sheffield  Duke  of  Buckingham,  that  King  James  with 
his  own  hand  wrote  a  letter  to  Shakespeare  in  return  for 
the  compliment  paid  to  him  in  "  Macbeth  :"  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham  is  said  to  have  had  Davenant's  evidence  for 
this  anecdote,  which  was  first  told  in  print  in  the  advertise- 
ment to  Lintot's  edition  of -Shakespeare's  Poems  in  17101. 
Rowe  says  nothing  of  it  in  his  "  Life,"  either  in  1709  or  1714, 
so  that,  at  all  events,  he  did  not  adopt  it;  and  it  seems  very 
improbable  that  James  I.  should  have  so  far  condescended, 
and  very  probable  that  the  writer  of  Liutot's  advertisement 
should  not  have  been  very  scrupulous.  We  may  conjec- 
ture, that  a  privy  seal  under  the  sign  manual,  (then  the  usual 
form  of  proceeding)  granting  to  the  King's  players  some 
extraordinary  reward  on  the  occasion,  has  been  misrepre- 
sented as  a  p"rivate  letter  from  the  King  to  the  dramatist. 

Malone  speculated  that  "  Macbeth  "  had  been  played  be- 
fore King  James  and  the  King  of  Denmark,  (who  arrived 
iii  England  on  6th  July,  1606)  but  we  have  not  a  particle 
of  testimony  to  establish  that  a  tragedy  relating  to  the  as- 
sassination of  a  monarch  by  an  ambitious  vassal  was  ever 
represented  at  court :  we  should  be  surprised  to  discover 
tiny  proof  of  the  kind,  because  such  incidents  seem  usually 
to  have  been  carefully  avoided. 

i  That  the  story  came  through  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  from  Da- 
venant,  seems  to  have  been  a.  conjectural  addition  byOldys:  the 
words  in  L'ntpt's  advertisement  are  these: — "That  most  learned 
Prince,  and  great  patron  of  learning,  King  James  the  First,  was 
.  pleased  with  his  own  hand  to  write  an  amicable  letter  to  Mr.  Shake- 
speare ;  which  letter,  though  now  lost,  remained  long  in  the  hands 
of  Sir  William  Davenant,  as  a  credible  person  now  living  can  tes- 
tify." Dr.  Farmer  was  the  first  to  give  currency  to  the  notion,  that 
the  compliment  to  the  Stuart  family  in  "  Macbeth  "  was  the  occasion 
if  the  letter 


THE    LIFE    OF 

The  eldest  daughter  of  William  and  Anne  Shakespeare^ 
Susanna,  having;  been  bora  in  May,  1583,  was  rather  more 
than  twenty-four  years  old  when  she  was  married,  on  6tt 
June,  1607,  to  Mr.  John  Hall,  of  Stratford,  who  is  styled 
"  gentleman "  in  the  register1,  but  he  WHS  a  protY-s.snr  of 
medicine,  and  subsequently  practised  as  a  physician.  There 
appears  to  have  been  no  reason  on  aay  side  for  opposing 
the  match,  and  we  may  conjecture  that  the  ceremony  was 
performed  in  the  presence  of  our  great  dramatist,  during 
one  of  his  summer  excursions  to  his  native  -town.  About  six 
mouths  afterwards  he  lost  his  brother  Edmund3,  and  his 
mother  in  the  autumn  of  the  succeeding  year. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Edmund  Shakespeare,  who  was 
not  twenty -eight  at  the  time  of  his  death,  had  embraced  the 
profession  of  a  player,  having  perhaps  followed  the  fortunes 
of  his  brother  William,  and  attached  himself  to  the  same 
company.  We,  however,  never  meet  with  his  name  in  any 
list  of  the  associations  of  the  time,  nor  is  he  mentioned  as  an 
actor  among  the  characters  of  any  old  play  with  which  we 
are  acquainted.  We  may  presume,  therefore,  that  he  attain- 
ed no  eminence  ;  perhaps  his  principal  employment  might 
be  under  his  brother  in  the  management  of  his  theatrical 
concerns,  while  he  only  took  inferior  parts  when  the  assistance 
of  a  larger  number  of  performers  than  usual  was  necessary. 

Mary  Shakespeare  survived  her  sou  Edmund  about  eight 
mouths,  and  was  buried  at  Stratford  on  the  9th  Sept  16083. 
There  are  few  points  of  his  life  which  can  be  stated  with 
more  confidence  than  that  our  great  dramatist  attended  the 
funeral  of  his  mother :  filial  piety  and  duty  would  of  course 
impel  him  to  visit  Stratford  on  the  occasion,  and  in  proof 
that  he  did  so,  we  may  mention  that  on  the  16th  of  the 
next  mouth  he  stood  godfather  there  to  a  boy  of  the  name 
of  William  Walker.  Shakespeare's  mother  had  probably 
resided  at  New  Place,  the  house  of  her  sou ;  from  whence, 
we  may  presume  also,  the  body  of  her  husband  had  been 
carried  to  the  grave  seven  years  before.  If  she  were  of 
full  age  when  she  was  married  to  John  Shakespeare  in 
1557,  she  was  about  72  years  old  at  the  time  of  her  decease. 

The  reputation  of  our  poet  as  a  dramatist  seems  at  this 
period  to  have  been  at  its  height  His  '•  King  Lear "  was 

1  The  terms  are  these  : — 

"  1607.  Junii  5.  John  Hall  gentlema  &  Susanna  Sh.xspers 
»  He  was  buried  at  St.  Saviour's,  South-wark,  in  the  imirediat* 
Ticinity  of  the  <i  .obe  theatre  ;  the  registration  being  in  the  following' 
lorm.  specifying,  rather  unusually,  the  occupation  of  the  deceased, 

"  1G07,  Dec.  31.     Edmund  Shakespeare,  a  player." 
»  The  folio-wing  is  a  copy  of  the  register. 

"1608,  Septemb.  9,  Mayry  Shaxspere,  Wydowe." 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  "1X1X 

printed  three  times  for  the  same  bookseller  in  1608 ;  and  in 
order  perhaps  to  increase  its  sale,  (as  well  as  to  securo  tha 
purchaser  against  the  old  "  King  Leir,"  a  play  upon  the 
same  story,  being  given  to  him  instead)  the  name  of  "  M. 
William  Shake-speare"  was  placed  very  conspicuously,  and 
most  unusually,  at  the  top  of  the  title-page.  The  same  ob- 
servation will  in  part  apply  to  "  Pericles,"  which  came  out 
in  1609,  with  the  name  of  the  author  rendered  particularly 
obvious,  although  in  the  ordinary  place.  "Troilus  and 
Cressida,"  which  was  published  in  the  same  year,  also  has 
the  name  of  the  author  very  distinctly  legible,  but  in  a  some- 
what smaller  tvpe.  In  both  the  latter  cases,  it  would  Like- 
wise seem,  that  there  were  plays  by  older  or  rival  drama- 
tists upon  the  same  incidents.  The  most  noticeable  proof 
of  the  advantage  which  a  bookseller  conceived  he  should 
derive  from  the  announcement  that  the  work  he  published 
was  by  our  poet,  is  afforded  by  the  title-page  of  the  collec- 
tion of  hi»  dispersed  sonnets,  which  was  ushered  into  the 
world  as  "  Shakespeare's  Sonnets,"  hi  very  large  capitals,  as 
if  that  mere  fact  would  be  held  a  sufficient  recommendation. 
In  a  former  part  of  our  memoir  (p.  Ixx.)  we  have  alluded 
to  the  circumstance,  that  in  1609  Shakespeare  was  rated  to 
the  poor  of  the  Liberty  of  the  Clink  in  a  sum  which  might 
possibly  indicate  that  he  was  the  occupant  of  a  commodious 
dwelling-house  in  Southwark.  The  fact  that  our  great 
dramatist  paid  six-pence  a  week  to  the  poor  there,  (as  high 
a  sum  as  anybody  in  that  immediate  vicinity  was  assessed 
at)  is  stated  in  the  aecount  of  the  Life  of  Edward  Alleyn, 
printed  by  the  Shakespeare  Society,  (p.  90)  and  there  it  is 
too  hastily  inferred  that  he  was  rated  at  this  sum  upon  a 
dwelliug-bouse  occupied  by  himself.  This  is  very  possibly 
the  fact ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  truth  may  be,  that  he 
paid  the  rate  not  for  any  habitation,  good  or  bad,  large  or 
small,  but  in  respect  of  his  theatrical  property  in  the  Globe, 
which  was  situated  in  the  same  district1.  The  parish  reg- 

1  The  account  (preserved  at  Dulwich  College)  does  not  state  that 
the  parties  enumerated  (consisting  of  57  persons)  were  rated  to  the 
poor  for  dwelling-houses,  but  merely  that  they  were  rated  and  as- 
sessed to  a  weekly  payment  towards  the  relief  of  the  poor,  some  for 
dwelling-houses,  and  others  perhaps  in  respect  to  different  kin  Is  of 
property  :  it  is  thus  entitled  : — 

"  A  breif  noat  taken  out  of  the  poores  booke,  contayning  the  names 

of  all  thenhabitantes  of  this  Liberty,  which  are  rated  and  assessed  tc 

a  weekely  paiment  towardes  the  relief  of  the  poore.     As  it  standes 

now  encreased.  this  6th  day  of  Aprill,  16(K).     Delivered  up  to  Phillip 

Henslowe.   Esquior,  churchwarden,  by  Francis   Carter,  one  of  th« 

jvreseers  of  the  same  Liberty."     It  commences  with  these  names  :— 

Phillip  Henslowe,  esquior,  assessed  it  weekely       .         .     vj«i 

Ed.  Alleyn,  assessec  at  weekely  .         .         .        .     vjd 

The  Ladye  Buckley   weekly     .  ....  iiij" 

VOL.   I.  12 


C1XX  THE    LIFE    OF 

ister  of  St  Saviour's  establishes,  that  in  1601  the  church 
wardens  had  been  instructed  by  the  vestry  "  to  talk  with 
ihe  players  "  respecting  the  payment  of  tithes  and  contribu- 
tions to  the  maintenance  of  the  poor ;  and  it  is  not  very  un- 
likely that  some  arrangement  was  made  under  which  the 
sharers  in  the  Globe,  and  Shakespeare  as  one  of  thern,  wouW 
be  assessed.  As  a  confirmatory  circumstance  we  may  add, 
that  when  Henslowe  and  Alleyn  were  about  to  build  the 
Fortune  play-house,  in  1599-1600,  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Lordship  of  ^Finsbury.  in  the  parish  of  Cripplegate,  peti- 
tioned the  privy  council  in  favour  of  the  undertaking,  one 
of  their  reasons  being,  that  "  the  erectors  were  contented  to 
give  a  very  liberal  portion  of  money  weekly  towards  the 
relief  of  the  poor."  Perhaps  the  parties  interested  in  the 
Globe  were  contented  to  come  to  similar  terms,  and  the 
parish  to  accept  the  money  weekly  from  the  various  indi- 
viduals. Heuslowe,  Alleyn,  Lowin,  Town,  Juby,  &c.,  who 
were  either  sharers,  or  actors  and  sharers,  in  that  or  other 
theatres  in  the  same  neighbourhood,  contributed  in  different 
proportions  for  the  same  purpose,  the  largest  amount  being 
six-pence  per  week,  which  was  paid  by  Shakespeare,  Heus- 
lowe, and  Alleyn1. 

The  ordinary  inhabitants  included  in  the  same  list,  doubt- 

The  account  is  in  three  divisions;  and  in  the  first,  besides  the  above, 
we  find  the  names  of 
Mr.  Langworthe 
Mr.  Benfield        . 
Mr.  Griffin 

Mr.  Toppin         .        .  fid 

Mr.  Louens  [i.  e.  Lowin]  ijd 

Francis  Carter    .  ijd 

Gilbert  Catherens       .  ijd 

and  twenty-one  others.  The  next  division  includes  a  list  of  nineteen 
names,  and  at  the  head  of  it  we  find, 

Mr.  Shakespeare vjd 

Mr.  Edw.  Collins      .  .     vj<i 

John  Burret vjd 

S«a  all  the  rest  pay  a  rate  of  either  2Jd  or  1|<1  including  the  following 
actors: 

Mr.  Tonne         ...  .     ij«  ob 

Mr.  Jubye . .      -       5  ob! 

Ki  chard  Hunt .        .      jd  ob. 

Simon  Bird ."        .        .        .      Jd  ob. 

The  third  division  consists  of  seven  persons  who  only  paid  one  penny 
wr  week,  and  among  them  we  perceive  the  name  of  no  individual 
who,  accoidinj  to  other  evidence,  appears  to  have  been  in  any  way 
•ciowned  with  theatres:  Malone  (see  his  ''Inquiry,"  p.  215,)  had 
wen  this  document,  lut  he  mis-states  that  it  belongs  to  the  year  160S, 

»  John  Northbrooke.  in  his  Treatise  against  Plays.  Players,  &c., 
(Shakespeare  Society's  reprint,  p.  120.)  informs  us  that  in  1577  reopl* 
contributed  weekly  to  the  support  of  the  poor  ''according  to  tkm 
ability,  some  a  penny,  some-two-pence,  ancther  four-pence,  ai.d  iJi 
Ksst  commonly  giveth  but  six-pence." 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 

less,  paid  for  their  dwellings,  according  to  theii  several 
rents,  and  such  may  have  been  the  case  with  Shakespeare, 
all  we  contend  for  is,  that  we  ought  not  to  conclude  at  once, 
that  Shakespeare  was  the  tenant  of  a  house  in  the  Libert) 
of  the  Clink,  merely  from  the  circumstance  that  lie  was 
rated  to  the  poor.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  he  was  the  occu- 
pier of  a  substantial  dwelling-house  iu  the  immediate  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  Globe,  where  his  presence  and  assistance 
would  often  be  required ;  and  the  amount  of  his  income  at 
this  period  would  warrant  such  an  expenditure,  although  we 
have  no  reason  for  thinking  that  such  a  house  would  be 
needed  for  his  wife  and  family,  because  the  existing  evi- 
dence is  opposed  to  the  notion  "that  they  ever  resided  with 
him  in  London. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Attempt  of  the  Lord  Mayor  and  aldermen  in  1608  to  expel  the 
King's  players  from  the  Black  friars,  and  its  failure.  Nego- 
tiation by  the  corporation  to  purchase  the  theatre  and  its 
appurtenances  :  interest  and  property  of  Shakespeare  and 
other  sharers.  The  income  of  Richard  Burbage  at  his 
death.  Diary  of  the  Rev.  J.  Ward.  Vicar  of  Stratford,  and 
his  statement  regarding  Shakespeare's  expenditure.  Copy 
of  a  letter  from  Lord  Southampton  on  behalf  of  Shakespeare 
and  Burbage.  Probable  decision  of  Lord  Chancellor  Klies- 
mere  in  favour  of  the  company  at  the  Black  friars  theatre. 

WE  have  referred  to  the  probable  amount  of  the  income  of 
our  great  dramatist  in  1609,  and  within  the  last  ten  years  a 
document  has  been  discovered,  which  enables  us  to  form 
some  judgment,  though  not  perhaps  an  accurate  estimate, 
of  the  sum  he  annually  derived  from  the  private  theatre  iu 
the  Blackfriars. 

From  the  outset  of  the  undertaking,  the  Lord  Mayor  and 
aldermen  of  London  had  been  hostile  to  the  establishment 
of  players  within  this  precinct,  so  near  to  the  boundaries, 
l>wt  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  the  corporation;  and,  as  we 
Lave  already  shown,  they  had  made  several  fruitless  efforts 
to  dislodge  them.  The  attempt  was  renewed  in  1 608,  when 
fvir  Henry  Montagu,  the  Attorney  General  of  the  day,  gave 
»n  opinion  iu  favour  of  the  claim  of  the  citizens  to  exercise 
their  municipal  powers  within  the  precinct  of  the  late  dis- 
iolved  monastery  of  the  Blackfriars.  The  question  seems 
in  some  shape  to  have  been  brought  before  Baron  Elles- 
mere,  then  Lord  Chancellor  of  England,  who  required  from 
the  Lord  Mayor  and  his  brethren  proofs  that  they  had  ex- 
M-oised  any  authority  in  the  disputed  liberty.  The  distin- 
guished lawyers  of  the  day  retained  by  the  city  were  iuime- 


THE    LIFE    OF 

diately  employed  iu  searching  for  records  applicable  to  tb« 
point  at  issue;  but  as  far  as  we  can  judge,  no  such  pi-oofs, 
as  were  thought  necessary  by  the  highest  legal  authority 
of  the  time,  and  applicable  to  any  recent  period,  were  fortb 
••inning.  Lord  Ellesmere,  therefore,  we  may  conclude,  waa 
opposed  to  the  claim  of  the  city. 

Failing  iu  this  endeavour  to  expel  the  King's  players  from 
their  hold  by  force  of  law,  the  corporation  appears  to  have 
taken  a  milder  course,  and  negotiated  with  the  players  for 
the  purchase  of  the  Blackfriars  theatre,  with  all  its  proper- 
ties and  appurtenances.  To  this  negotiation  we  are  proba- 
bly indebted  for  a  paper,  which  shows  with  great  exactness 
and  particularity  the  amount  of  interest  then  claimed  by 
each  sharer,  those  sharers  being  Richard  Burbage,  Laurence 
Fletcher1,  William  Shakespeare,  John  Heminge,  Henry 
Coudell,  Joseph  Taylor,  and  John  Lowin,  with  four  other 
persons  not  named,  each  the  owner  of  half  a  share. 

We  have  inserted  the  document  entire  in  a  note2,  and 
hence  we  find  that  Richard  Burbage  was  the  owner  of  the 
freehold  or  fee,  (which  he  no  doubt  inherited  from  his 
father)  as  well  as  the  owner  of  four  shares,  the  value  of  all 
which,  taken  together,  he  rated  at  1933^.  6s.  8d.  Laurence 
Fletcher  (if  it  be  he,  for  the  Christian  name  is  written 

'  These  transactions  most  probably  occurred  before  September, 
HHW,  because  Laurence  Fletcher  died  in  that  month.  However,  it  ii 
not  quite  certain  that  the  "  Laz.  Fletcher."  mentioned  in  the  docu- 
ment, was  Laurence  Fletcher :  we  know  of  no  person  named  Lazarus 
Fletcher,  though  he  may  have  been  the  personal  representative  of 
Laurence  Fletcher. 

2  Jt  is  thus  headed— 
"For  avoiding  of  the  Playhouse  in  the  Precinct  of  the  Blacke  Friers. 

£.      s.  d. 

Imp.  Richard  Burbidge  oweth  the  Fee,  and  is  alsoe  a 
sharer  therein.  His  interest  he  rateth  at  the  grosse 
surame  of  100CK.  for  the  Fee.  and  for  his  foure  shares 

in  thesumme  of  <J33/.  6s.  Sd 1933     6    8 

Item.  Laz.  Fletcher  oweth  three  shares,  which  he  rateth 
at  TOO/.,  that  is,  at  seven  yeares  purchase  for  each 
share,  or  3U.  6s.  Sd.,  one  yeare  with  another  .  .  700  0  0 
Itim.  W.  Shakespeare  asketh  for  the  wardrobe  and 
properties  of  the  same  playhouse  500/.,  and  for  his 
4  shares,  the  same  as  his  fellowes,  Burbidge  and 

Fletcher  ;  viz.  933/.  6s.  Hit 1433     6    9 

Item    Heminge  and  Condell  eche  2  shares   .        .         .      933     6    8 
Item.  Joseph  Taylor  1  share  and  an  halfe      .         .        .      350     0    0 
Item.  Lowing  also  one  share  and  an  halfe    .         .         .       350     0    '. 
Item.  Foure  more  playeres  with  one  halfe  share  to  eche 
of  them .      466  13   4 


Summa  totalis        .    6166  13    4 

Moreover,  the  hired  men  of  the  Companie  demaund  some  recompenc* 
.or  their  great  losse.  and  the  Widowes  and  Orphanes  of  Players,  w/.o 
w«  paide  by  the  Sharers  at  divers  rates  and  proportions,  so  as  .n  l).« 
••hole  it  will  cost  the  Lo  Mayor  and  the  Citizens  at  leas.'.  ~OCKM  » 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 

:t  Laz,")  was  pr  >prietor  of  three  shares,  for  which  he  claimed 
700/.  Shakespeare  was  proprietor  of  the  wardrobe  and 
properties  of  the  theatre,  estimated  at  500?.,  as  well  as  of 
four  shares,  valued,  like  those  of  Burbage  and  Fletcher,  at 
33/.  6s.  8d.  each,  or  933/.  6s.  8d..  at  seven  years'  purchase 
his  whole  demand  was  1433/.  6s.  8d.,  or  500  J.  less  than  that 
of  Burbage,  in  as  much  as  the  fee  was  considered  worth 
loon/.,  while  Shakespeare's  wardrobe  and  properties  were 
valued  at  500/.  According  to  the  same  calculation,  Hem- 
iuge  and  Condell  each  required  466£.  13s.  4d.  for  their  two 
shares,  and  Taylor  850/.  for  his  share  and  a  half,  while  the 
four  unnamed  half-sharers  put  in  their  claim  to  be  compen- 
sated at  the  same  rate.  466/.  13s.  4d.  This  mode  of  esti- 
mating the  Blackfriars  theatre  made  the  value  of  it  6166/. 
13*.  4d.,  and  to  this  sum  was  to  be  added  remuneration  to 
the  hired  men  of  the  company,  who  were  not  sharers,  aa 
well  as  to  the  widows  and  orphans  of  deceased  actors :  the 
purchase  money  of  the  whole  property  was  thus  raised  to 
at  least  7000/. 

Each  share,  out  of  the  twenty  into  which  the  receipts  of 
the  theatre  were  divided,  yielded,  as  was  alleged,  an  annual 
profit  of  33/.  6s.  8d. ;  and  Shakespeare,  owning  four  of  these 
ehares.  his  annual  income,  from  them  only,  was  133/.  6s.  8d. : 
he  was  besides  proprietor  of  the  wardrobe  and  properties, 
stated  to  be  worth  500/. :  these,  we  may  conclude,  he  lent 
to  the  company  for  a  certain  consideration,  and,  reckoning 
wear  and  tear,  ten  per  cent,  seems  a  very  low  rate  of  pay- 
ment; we  will  take  it,  however,  at  that  sum,  which  would 
add  50J.  a  year  to  the  133^.  6s.  8d.  already  mentioned,  making 
together  183/.  6s.  8<f.,  besides  what  our  great  dramatist  must 
have  gained  by  the  profits  of  his  pen,  upon  which  we  have 
no  data  for  forming  any  thing  like  an  accurate  estimate. 
Without  including  any  thing  on.  this  account,  and  supposing 
only  that  the  Globe  was  as  profitable  for  a  summer  theatre 
as  the  Blackfriars  was  for  a  winter  theatre,  it  is  evident 
that  Shakespeare's  income  could  hardly  have  been  less  than 
366/.  13s.  4d.  Taking  every  known  source  of  emolument 
into  view,  we  consider  400^.  a  year  the  very  lowest  amount 
at  which  his  income  can  be  reckoned  in  1608. 

The  document  upon  which  this  calculation  is  founded  ia 
preserved  among  the  papers  of  Lord  Ellesmere,  but  a  re- 
markable incidental  confirmation  of  it  has  still  more  recently 
been  brought  to  light  in  the  State-paper  office.  Sir  Dudley 
Carlton  was  ambassador  at  the  Hague  in  1619,  and  John 
Charnberlaine,  writing  to  him  on  19th  of  March  in  that 
year,  and  mentioning  the  death  of  Queen  Anne,  states  that 
"  the  funeral  is  put  off  to  the  29th  of  the  next  month,  to  the 
great  hinderanee  of  our  players,  which  are  forbidden  to  play 


THE    LIFE    OF 

ao  long  as  her  body  is  above  ground:  one  speciall  mat 
among  them,  Burbage,  is  lately  dead,  and  hath  left,  they 
say,  better  than  SQOl.  land."1 

Burbage  was  interred  at  St.  Leonard's,  Shoreditch,  on 
16th  March,  1619,  three  days  anterior  to  the  date  of  Cham- 
berlaine's  letter2,  having  made  his  nuncupative  -will  four 
days  before  his  burial :  in  it  he  said  nothing  about  the 
amount  of  his  property,  but  merely  left  his  wife  Winifred 
his  sole  executrix.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  however,  that 
the  corregpoudent  of  Sir  Dudley  Carlton  was  correct  in  hia 
information,  and  that  Burbage  died  worth  "  better  than " 
300/.  a  year  in  land,  besides  his  "  goods  and  chattels :"  SOOl. 
a  year  at  that  date  was  about  1500/.  of  our  present  money, 
and  we  have  every  reason  to  suppose  that  Shakespeare  was 
quite  in  as  good,  if  not  in  better  circumstances.  Until  the 
letter  of  Chamberlaine  was  found,  we  had  not  the  slightest 
knowledge  of  the  amount  of  property  Burbage  had  accu- 
mulated, he  having  been  during  his  whole  life  merely  an 
actor,  and  not  combining  in  his  own  person  the  profits  of  a 
most  successful  dramatic  author  with  those  of  a  performer. 
Nevertheless,  it  must  not  be  forgotten,  that  although  Shake- 
speare continued  a  large  sharer  with  the  leading  member 
of  the  company  in  1608,  he  had  retired  from  the  stage  about 
four  years  before ;  and  having  ceased  to  act,  but  still  re- 
taining his  shares  in  the  profits  of  the  theatres  with  which 
he  was  connected,  it  is  impossible  to  say  what  arrangement 
he  may  have  made  with  the  rest  of  the  company  for  the 
regular  contribution  of  dramas,  iu  lieu  perhaps  of  his  own 
personal  exertions. 

In  a  work  published  a  few  years  ago,  containing  extracts 
from  the  Diary  of  the  Rev.  John  Ward,  who  was  vicar  of 
Stratford-upon-Avon,  and  whose  memoranda  extend  from 
1648  to  1679',  it  is  stated  that  Shakespeare  "in  his  elder 
days  lived  at  Stratford,  and  supplied  the  stage  with  two 
plays  every  year,  and  for  it  had  an  allowance  so  large,  that 


by  Mr.  Lemon,  who  has  been  as  indefatigable  in  his  researches  ai 
>eral  in  the  communication  of  the  results  of  them. 
*  I '',  Passaee  above  1uot«d  renders  Middleton's  epigram  on  the 
ath  of  Burbage  (Works  by  Dyce,  vol.  v.  p.  503)  quite  clear:— 


'This  new  and  valuable  piece  of  information  was  pointed  out  to 
a»  by  Mr.  Lemon,  who  has  been  as  indefatigable  in  his  researches  ai 
liberal  in  the  communication  of  the  results  of  ther" 

*  The   pa 
death  of  Bu 

Write  but  of  four  eclipses  ;  five  appear. 

Death  interposing  Burbage,  and  their  staying, 

Hath  made  a  visible  eclipse  of  playing." 

It  has  been  conjectured  that  "their  staying"  referred  to  a  temporary 
•UBpension  of  plays  in  consequence  of  the  death  of  Burbage  ;  but  th« 
Anne*'1*  Prohibition  of  *«»"«  until  after  the  funeral  of  Queen 
c.  Arranged  by  Charles  Se  rern. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE 

he  spent  at  the  rate  of  1000/.  a  year,  as  I  have  beard."  W« 
or  ly  adduce  this  passage  to  show  \vhut  the  opinion  was  as 
tt  Shakespeare's  circumstances  shortly  after  the  Restora- 
tion'. Wo  take  it  for  granted  that  theeum  of  lOQQl.  (equal 
to  nearly  5000/.  now)  is  a  considerable  exaggeration,  but  it 
may  warrant  the  belief  tbat  Shakespeare  lived  in  good  style 
and  port,  late  in  life,  in  his  native  town.  It  is  very  possible, 
too,  though  we  think  not  probable,  that  after  he  retired  to 
Stratford  he  continued  to  write,  but  it  is  utterly  incredible 
that  subsequent  to  his  retirement  he  "  supplied  the  stage 
with  two  plays  every  year."  He  might  not  be  able  at  once 
to  relinquish  his  old  and  confirmed  habits  of  composition; 
but  such  other  evidence  as  we  possess  is  opposed  to  Ward's 
statement,  to  which  he  himself  appends  the  cautionary 
words,  "  as  I  have  heard."  Of  course  he  could  have  known 
nothing  but  by  hearsay  forty  -six  years  after  our  poet's  de- 
cease. He  might,  however,  easily  have  known  inhabitants 
of  Stratford  who  well  recollected  Shakespeare,  and,  consid- 
ering the  opportunities  he  possessed,  it  strikes  us  as  very 
singular  that  he  collected  so  little  information. 

We  have  already  adverted  to  the  bounty  of  the  Earl  of 
Southampton  to  Shakespeare,  which  we  have  supposed  to 
have  been  consequent  upon  the  dedication  of  "  Venus  and 
Adonis,"  and  "  Lucrece,"  to  that  nobleman,  and  coincident 
in  point  of  date  with  the  building  of  the  Globe  Theatre. 
Another  document  has  been  handed  down  to  us  among  the 

pers  of  Lord  Ellesmere,  which  proves  the  strong  interest 
Southampton  still  took,  about  fifteen  years  afterwards, 
in  Shakespeare's  affairs,  and  in  the  prosperity  of  the  com- 
pany to  which  he  was  attached  :  it  has  distinct  reference 
also  to  the  pending  and  unequal  struggle  between  the  cor- 
poration of  London  and  the  players  at  the  Blackfriars,  of 
which  we  have  already  spoken.  It  is  the  copy  of  a  letter 
subscribed  H.  S.  (the  initials  of  the  Earl)  to  some  nobleman 
in  favour  of  our  great  dramatist,  and  of  the  chief  performer 
in  many  of  his  plays,  Richard  Burbage  ;  and  recollecting 
what  Lord  Southampton  had  before  done  for  Shakespeare, 
and  the  manner  in  which  from  the  first  he  had  patronized 
our  stage  and  drama,  it  seems  to  us  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world  for  him  to  write  a  letter  personally  on  behalf 
of  parties  who  had  so  many  public  and  private  claims.  We 
may  conclude  that  the  original  was  not  addressed  to  Lord 
Ellesmere,  or  it  would  have  been  found  in  the  depository 
of  his  papers,  and  not  merely  a  transcript  of  it;  but  a  copy 
of  it  may  have  been  furnished  to  the  Lord  Chancellor,  in 
order  to  give  him  some  information  respecting  the  charac- 

1  Mr.  Ward  was  anointed  to  the  vicarage  oi  Stratfo  d-upon-Avoa 
n  1602 


pa 
Lo 


THE    LIFE    OF 

tere  of  the  parties  upon  whose  cause  he  was  called  upou  t» 
decide.  Lord  Ellesmere  stood  high  in  the  confidence  of  hia 
sovereign :  he  had  many  important  public  duties  to  discharge 
besides  those  belonging  to  his  great  office ;  and  notwith- 
standing he  had  shown  himself  at  all  times  a  liberal  patron 
of  lettei-s,  and  had  had  many  works  of  value  dedicated  to 
him,  we  may  readily  imagine,  that  although  he  must  have 
heard  of  Shakespeare  and  Burbage,  he  was  in  some  degree 
of  ignorance  as  to  their  individual  deserts,  which  this  com- 
munication was  intended  to  remove.  That  it  was  not  sent 
to  him  by  Lord  Southampton,  who  probably  was  acquainted 
with  him,  may  afford  a  proof  of  the  delicacy  of  the  Earl's 
mind,  who  would  not  seem  directly  to  interpose  while  a 
question  of  the  sort  was  pending  before  a  judge,  (though 
possibly  not  in  his  judicial  capacity)  the  history  of  whose 
life  establishes  that  where  the  exercise  of  his  high  functions 
was  involved  he  was  equally  deaf  to  public  and  to  private 
influence. 

We  have  introduced  an  exact  copy  of  the  document  in  a 
note1,  and  it  will  be  observed  that  it  is  without  date ;  but 

i  The  copy  was  made  upon  half  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  -without  ad- 
dress :  it  runs  as  follows  : — 

"My  verie  honored  Lord.  The  manie  good  offices  I  haue  receiued 
at  your  Lordship's  hands,  which  ought  to  make  me  backward  in  asking 

kinde.  Your  Lordship  will  be  warned  howe  hereafter  you  graunt 
anie  sute,  seeing  it  draweth  on  more  and  greater  demaunds.  This 
which  now  presseth  is  to  request  your  Lordship,  in  all  you  can,  to  be 
good  to  the  poore  players  ot  the  Black  Fryers,  who  call  them  selves  by 
authoritie  ;he  servaunts  of  his  Majestie,  and  aske  for  the  protection 
of  their  most  gracious  Maister  and  Sovereigne  in  this  the  tyme  of  their 
treble.  They  are  threatened  by  the  Lord  Mayor  and  Aldermen  of 
London,  never  f.iendly  to  their  calling,  with  the  distruction  of  their 
meanes  of  livelihood,  by  the  pulling  downe  of  their  plaiehouse,  which 
is  a  priuate  theatre,  and  hath  nouer  giuen  occasion  of  anger  by  anie 
disorders.  These  bearers  are  two  of  the  chiefe  of  the  cotnpanie  ;  one 
of  them  by  name  Richard  Burbidge,  who  humblie  sueth  for  your 
Lordship's  kinde  helpe,  for  that  he  is  a  man  famous  as  our  English 
Roscius,  one  who  fitteth  the  action  to  the  word,  and  the  word  to  the 
iction  most  admirably.  By  the  exercise  of  his  aualitve,  industry, 
and  good  behaviour,  he  hath  be  come  possessed  of  the  Blacke  Fryers 
playhouse,  which  hath  bene  imployed  for  playes  sithence  it  wa» 
builded  by  his  Father,  now  nere  50  yores  agone.  The  other  is  a  man 
no  whin  lesse  deserving  favor,  and  my  especiall  friende,  till  of  late 
an  actor  of  good  account  in  the  companie,  now  a  sharer  in  the  same, 
and  writer  of  some  of  our  best  English  playes,  which,  as  your  Lord- 
ihip  knoweth,  were  most  singularly  liked  of  Queue  Ehzab'eth.  when 
the  companie  was  called  uppon  to  perforrne  before  her  Maiestie  ut 
Court  at  Christmas  and  Shrovetide  His  most  gracious  Maiestie  King 
James  alsoe.  sence  his  coming  to  the  crowne,  hath  extended  his  royal 
favour  to  the  companie  in  divers  waies  and  at  sundrie  tymes.  This 
othor  hath  to  name  William  Shakespeare,  and  they  are  both  of  one 
CTJntie,  and  indeede  allmostof  one  towne  :  both  are  right  famous  in 
«v.'-.r  qnalityes.  though  it  longeth  not  of  your  Lo.  grauitie  and  wise- 
•Uutte  to  resort  vnto  the  placet  where  they  are  wont  to  delight  th« 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 


the  subject  of  it  shows  beyond  dispute  that  it  belongs  to  this 
period,  while  the  lord  mayor  and  aldermen  were  endeavour- 
ing to  expel  the  players  from  a  situation  where  they  had 
been  uninterruptedly  "established  for  more  than  thirty  years. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  object  the  players  had  iu 
view  was  attained,  because  we  know  that  the  lord  mayor 
and  his  brethren  were  not  allowed,  until  many  jears  after- 
wards, to  exercise  any  authority  within  the  "precinct  and 
liberty  of  the  Blackfriars,  and  that  the  King's  servants  con- 
tinued to  occupy  the  theatre  long  after  the  death  of  Shake- 


speare. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


"Warrant  to  Daborne,  Shakespeare,  Field,  and  Kirkham,  for 
the  Children  of  the  Queen's  Revels,  in  Jan.  1610.  Popu- 
larity of  juvenile  companies  of  actors.  Stay  of  Daborne's 
warrant,  and  the  reasons  for  it.  Plays  intended  to  be  acted 
by  the  Children  of  the  Queen's  Kevels.  Shakespeare's 
dramas  between  1609  and  1612.  His  retirement  to  Stratford, 
and  disposal  of  his  property  in  the  BlacktYiars  and  Globe 
theatres.  AlleynV  purchases  in  Black  friare  in  1612.  Shake- 
speare's purchase  of  a  house  in  Blackfriara  from  Henrv 
Walker  in  1613,  and  the  possible  cau>e  of  it  explained". 
Shakespeare  described  as  oL'Stratt'ord-upon-Avon. 

THERE  is  reason  for  believing  that  the  important  question 
of  jurisdiction  had  been  decided  iu  favour  of  the  King's 
players  before  January,  1609-10.  because  we  have  an  in- 
strument of  that  date  authorizing  a  juvenile  companv  to 
exhibit  at  Blackfriars.  as  well  as  the  association  which  "had 
been  in  possession  of  the  theatre  ever  since  its  original  con- 
struction. One  circumstance  connected  with  this  document, 
to  which  we  shall  presently  advert,  may  however  appear 
to  cast  a  doubt  upon  the  point,  whether  it  had  yet  been 
finally  determined  that  the  corporation  of  London  was  by 
law  excluded  from  the  precinct  of  the  Blackfriars. 

It  is  a  fact,  of  which  it  may  be  said  we  have  conclusive 
proof,  that  almost  from  the  first,  if  not  from  the  first,  the 
Blackfriars  theatre  had  been  in  the  joint  possession  of  the 

publiqne  eare  Their  trust  and  sute  nowe  is  not  to  bee  molested  in 
their  way  of  life,  whereby  they  maintaine  them  selves  and  their 
•jrives  and  families,  (being  both  married  and  of  good  reputation)  a* 
well  as  the  widows  and  prphanes  of  some  of  their  dead  fellows. 

"  Your  Lo  most  bounden  at  com. 
"  Copia  vera."  "  H.  S." 

Lord  Southampton  was  clearly  mistaken  when  he  stated  that  the 
B'.ackfriars  theatre  had  b«en  built  nearly  fifty  years  :  in  100;  it  had 
teen  built  about  thirty-tJjree  years. 


THE    LIFE    OF 

Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  and  of  a  juvenile  company 
called  the  Children  of  the  Chapel  :  they  were  also  known  as 
"  her  Majesty's  Children,"  aud  "  the  Children  of  the  Black- 
friars  ;"  aud  it  is  uot  to  be  supposed  that  they  employed 
the  theatre  on  alternate  days  with  their  older  competitors. 
but  that,  when  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  acted  else- 
where in  the  summer,  the  Children  of  the  Chapel  com- 
menced their  performances  at  the  Blackfriars.1  After  the 
opening  of  the  Globe  in  1595,  we  may  presume  that  the 
Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  usually  left  the  Blackfriars 
theatre  to  be  occupied  by  the  Children  of  the  Chapel  during 
the  seven  months  from  April  to  October. 

The  success  of  the  juvenile  companies  in  the  commence- 
ment of  the  reign  of  James  I,  and  even  at  the  latter  end 
of  that  of  Elizabeth,  was  great  ;  and  we  find  Shakespeare 
alluding  to  it  in  vei  y  pointed  terms  in  a  well-known  passage 
in  "  Hamlet,"  which  we  suppose  to  have  been  written  in  the 
winter  of  1601,  or  in  the  spring  of  1602.  They  seem  to 
liave  gone  on  increasing  in  popularity,  aud  very  soon  after 
James  L  ascended  the  throne,  Queen  Anne  took  a  company, 
called  "  the  Children  of  the  Queen's  Revels,"  under  her 
immediate  patronage.  There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that 
they  continued  to  perform  at  Blaekfriars,  and  in  the  very 
commencement  of  the  year  1610  we  find  that  Shakespeare 
either  was,  or  intended'to  be,  connected  with  them.  At  this 
period  he  probably  contemplated  an  early  retirement  from 
the  metropolis,  and  might  wish  to  avail  himself,  for  a  short 
period,  of  this  new  opportunity  of  profitable  employment. 
Robert  Daborne,  the  author  of  two  dramas  that  have  been 
printed,  and  of  several  others  that  have  been  lost,"  seems  to 
have  been  a  man  of  good  family,  and  of  some  interest  at  court  ; 

i  See  Hist.  Engl.  Dram.  Poetry  and  the  Stage,  vol.  iii.  p.  275,  where 
such  is  conjectured  to  have,  been  the  arrangement. 

*  "  The  Christian  turned  Turk."  161-2.  and  "  The  Poor  Man's  Com- 
fort," 1655.  In  "  The  Alleyn  Papers,"'  (printed  by  the  Shakespeare 
Society,)  may  be  seen  much  correspondence  between  Daborne  and 

enslowe  respecting  plays  he  was  then  writing  for  the  Fortune  the- 


. 

Lord  Willoughby  had  sent  for  him,  and  it  is  most  likely  that  Da- 
borne  went  to  Ireland  under  this  nobleman's  patronage.  It  is  certain 
that,  having  been  regularly  educated,  he  went  into  the  Church,  and 
had  a  living  at  or  near  Waterford,  where,  in  1613,  he  preached  a 
sermon  which  is  extant.  While  writing  for  Henslowe  he  was  in 
great  poverty,  having  sold  most  of  the  property  he  had  with  his  wife. 
We  have  no  information  as  to  the  precise  time  of  his  death,  but  hia 
Poor  Man's  Comfort1'  was  certainly  a  posthumous  production  :  he 
had  sold  it  to  one  of  the  companies  of  the  day  before  he  took  holy 
orders,  and.  like  various  other  plays,  after  long  remaining  in  manu- 
•cript,  it  was  published.  His  lost  plays,  some  of  which  he  wrote  in 
conjunction  with  other  dramatists,  appear  from  "  The  AUeyn  Papers  M 
to  have  been—  1.  Machiavel  and  the  Devil  ;  2.  The  Arraignment  of 
Lon  Ion  ;  3.  The  Bellman  of  London  ;  4.  The  Owl  :  5.  The  She  Saint  { 
others  the  ti'"«s  of  which  are  not  given. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 

and  in  January  1609-10,  he  was  able  to  procure  a  royal 
grant,  authorizing  him  and  others  to  provide  and  educate  a 
number  of  young  actors,  to  be  called  "  the  Children  of  the 
Queen's  Revels."  As  we  have  observed,  this  was  not  a  new 
association,  because  it  had  existed  under  that  appellation,  and 
under  those  of  "  the  Children  of  the  Chapel "  and  "  the  Chil- 
dren of  the  Blackfriars,"  from  near  the  beginning  of  the  reign 
of  Elizabeth.  Daborue,  in  1609-10,  was  placed  at  the  head 
of  it,  and  not,  perhaps,  having  sufficient  means  or  funds  of  his 
own,  he  had,  as  was  not  unusual,  partners  in  the  undertak- 
ing: those  partners  were  William  Shakespeare,  Nathaniel 
Field,  (the  celebrated  actor,  and  very  clever  author)  and 
Edward  Kirkham,  who  had  previously  enjoyed  a  privilege 
of  the  same  kind1.  A  memorandum  of  the  warrant  to 
"  Daborue  and  others,"  not  there  named,  is  inserted  in  the 
'•  Entry  Book  of  Patents  and  Warrants  for  Patents,"  kept 
by  a  person  of  the  name  of  Tuthill,  who  was  employed  by 
Lord  Kllesmere  for  the  purpose,  aud  which  book  is  pre- 
served among  the  papers  handed  down  by  his  lordship  to 
his  successors.  In  the  same  depository  we  also  find  a  draft 
of  the  warrant  itself,  under  which  Daborne  and  his  partners, 
therein  named,  viz.  Shakespeare,  Field,  and  Kirkham,  were 
to  proceed2 ;  and  it  is  a  circumstance  deserving  notice,  that 

1  He  was  one  of  the  masters  of  the  Children  of  the  Queen's  Revels 
in   1(503-4.     See  Hist,  of  Engl.  Dram.  Poetry  and  the  Stage,  vol.  i. 
p.  35-2. 

2  It  runs  thus  : — 

"  Right  trusty  and  weloeloved,  &c.,  James,  kc.  To  all  Mayors, 
Sheriffs,  Justices  of  the  Peace,  &  c.  Whereas  the  Queene,  our  dearest 
wife,  hath  for  her  pleasure  and  recreation  appointed  her  servaunts 
Robert  Daiborne.  &c.  to  provide  and  bring  upp  a.  convenient  nomber 
of  children,  who  shall  be  called  the  Children  of  her  Majesties  Revells, 
knowe  ye  that  we  have  appointed  and  authorized,  and  by  these  pre- 
sents doe  appoint  and  authorize  the  said  Robert  Daiborne,  William 
Shakespeare,  Nathaniel  Field,  and  Edward  Kirkham,  from  time  to 

them  to  instruct  and  exercise  in  the  quality  of  playing  Tragedies, 
Comedies,  &c.,  by  the  name  of  the  Children  of  the  Revells  to  the 
Q-ueene,  within  the  Blackfryers,  in  our  Citie  of  London,  or  els  where 

venient  nomber  of  children,  by  the  name  of  the  Children  of  the 
Revells  to  the  Queene,  and  them  to  exercise  in  the  quahtie  of  play- 
ing according  to  her  royal  pleasure.  Provided  alwaies.  that  no  playes. 
&c.  shall  be  by  them  presented,  but  such  playes.  &c.  as  have  received 
the  approbation  and  allowance  of  our  Maister  of  the  Revells  for  th« 
tyme  being.  And  these  our  Ires,  shall  be  your  sufficient  warrant  in 
this  behalfe.  In  \\-itnesse  whereof,  &c.,  4«  die  Janij.  100!). 
"  Proud  Povertie.  Engl.  Tragedie. 

Widow's  Mite.  False  Friends. 

A_ntonio.  Hate  and  Love. 

Triumph  of  Truth.  K.  Edw.  2. 

Touchstone.  Mirror  of  Lii« 

Griiell. 
rf-aved." 


C1XXX  THE    LIFE    OF 

"the  Children  of  the  Queen's  Revels"  were  thereby 
licensed  not  only  to  act  "  tragedies,  comedies,"  etc.  in  the 
Blackfriare  theatre,  but  "  elsewhere  within  the  realm  of 
Holland ;"  so  that  even  pLices  where  the  city  authorities 
had  indisputably  a  right  to  exercise  jurisdiction  were  not 
exempted 

It  will  be  recollected  that  this  had  been  a  point  in  dis- 
pute in  1574,  and  that  the  words  "as  well  within  our  city 
of  London  "  were  on  this  account  excluded  from  the  patent 
granted  by  Elizabeth  to  the  players  of  Lord  Leicester, 
though  found  hi  the  privy  seal  dated  three  days  earlier.1 
For  the  same  reason,  probably,  they  are  not  contained  in 
the  patent  of  James  I.  to  Fletcher,  Shakespeare,  and  others, 
in  1603.  We  may  be  satisfied  that  the  warrant  of  1609-10 
to  Daborne  and  his  partners  was  not  carried  into  effect,  and 
possibly  on  that  account :  although  it  may  have  been  decided 
at  this  dale  that  the  lord  mayor  and  aldermen  had  no  power 
forcibly  to  exclude  the  actors  from  the  Blackfriars,  it  may 
Lave  been  held  inexpedient  to  go  the  length  of  authorizing 
a  young  company  to  act  within  the  very  boundaries  of  the 
city.  So  far  the  corporation  may  have  prevailed,  and  this 
may  be  the  cause  why  we  never  hear  of  any  steps  having 
been  taken  under  the  wan-ant  of  1609-10.  The  word 
"  stayed  "  is  added  at  the  conclusion  of  the  draft,  as  if  some 
good  ground  had  been  discovered  for  delaying,  if  not  for 
entirely  withholding  it  Perhaps  even  the  question  of  juris- 
diction had  not  been  completely  settled,  and  it  may  have 
been  thought  useless  to  concede  a  privilege  which,  after  all, 
by  the  operation  of  the  law  in  favour  of  the  claim  of  the 
city,  might  turn  out  to  be  of  no  value,  because  it  could  not 
be  acted  upon.  Certain  it  is,  that  the  new  scheme  seems 
to  have  been  entirely  abandoned;  and  whatever  Shake- 
speare may  have  intended  when  he  became  connected  with 
it,  he  continued,  as  long  as  he  remained  in  London,  and  as 
far  as  any  evidence  enables  us  to  judge,  to  write  only  for 
the  company  of  the  King's  players,  who  persevered  in  their 
performances  at  the  Blackfriars  in  the  winter,  and  at  the 
Globe  in  the  summer. 

It  will  be  seen  that  to  the  draft  in  favour  of  "  Daborne 
and  others,"  as  directors  of  the  performances  of  the  Children 
of  the  Queen's  Revels,  a  list  is  appended,  apparently  of 
dramatic  performances  in  representing  which  the  juvenile 
company  was  to  be  employed.  Some  of  these  may  be  con- 
sidered, known  and  established  performances,  such  as  "  An- 
touio."  which  perhaps  was  intended  for  the  "  Antonio  and 
Mellida"of  Marston,  printed  in  1602;  "Grisell,"  for  the 
"  Patient  Grisell "  of  Dekkcr,  Chettle,  and  Haughton,  printed 
S««  HUt.  Engl.  Dram.  Poetry  and  the  Stage,  vol.  i  p  212. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE 

in  1C03;  and  " K.  Edw.  2.,"  for  Marlowe's  "Edward  II," 
printed  in  1598.  Of  others  we  have  DO  information  from 
any  quarter,  and  only  two  remind  us  at  all  of  Shakespeare: 
"  Kinsmen,"  may  mean  "  The  two  Xoble  Kinsmen,"  in  writ- 
ing which,  some  suppose  our  great  dramatist  to  hare  been 
concerned ;  and  "  Taming  of  S,"  is  possibly  to  be  taken  for 
"  The  Tamiug  of  the  Shrew,"  or  for  the  older  play,  with 
nearly  the  same  title,  upon  which  it  was  founded. 

"  Troilus  and  Cressida  "  and  "  Pericles  "  were  printed  in 
1 609,  and  to  our  mind  there  seems  but  little  doubt  that  they 
had  been  written  and  prepared  for  the  stage  only  a  short 
time  before  they  came  from  the  press.  With  the  single 
exception  of  "Othello,"  which  came  out  in  4to  in  16'2'2,  no 
other  new  drama  by  Shakespeare  appeared  in  a  printed 
form  between  1609  and  the  date  of  the  publication  of  the 
folio  iu  1623'.  We  need  not  here  discuss  what  plays,  first 
found  in  that  volume,  were  penned  by  our  great  dramatist 
after  1609,  because  we  have  separately  considered  the 
claims  of  each  in  our  preliminary  Introductions.  "  Timon 
of  Athens,"  "  Coriolauus,"  "  Antony  and  Cleopatra,"  "  Cym- 
beline,"  "  The  Winter's  Tale,"  and  "  The  Tempest,"  seem  to 
belong  to  a  late  period  of  our  poet's  theatrical  career,  and 
some  of  them  were  doubtless  written  between  1609  and  the 
period,  whatever  that  period  might  be,  when  he  entirely 
relinquished  dramatic  composition. 

Between  January  1609-10,  when  Shakespeare  was  one 
of  the  parties  to  whom  the  warrant  for  the  Children  of  the 
Queen's  Revels  was  conceded,  and  the  year  1612,  when,  it 
has  been  reasonably  supposed  that  he  quitted  London  to 
take  up  his  permanent  residence  at  Stratford,  we  are  in 
possession  of  no  facts  connected  with  his  personal  history". 
It  would  seem  both  natural  and  prudent  that,  before  he 
withdrew  from  the  metropolis,  he  should  dispose  of  his 
theatrical  property,  which  must  necessarily  be  of  fluctuating 
and  uncertain  value,  depending  much  upon  the  presence 
and  activity  of  the  owner  for  its  profitable  management. 
In  his  will  (unlike  some  of  his  contemporaries  who  expired 
iu  London)  he  says  nothing  of  any  such  property,  and  we 

1  One  copy  of  the  folio  is  known  with  the  date  of  1622  upon  the 
title-page.     The  volume  was  entered  at  Stationers'  Hall  on  the  bth 
Nov.  Kiii,  as  if  it  had  not   been  published  until  late  in  that  year, 
unless  we  suppose  the  entry  made  by  Blount  and  .laggard  some  time 
ifter  publication,  in  order  to  secure   their  right  to  the  plays  first 
printed  there,  which  they  thought  might  be  invaded. 

2  We  ought,  perhaps  to  except  a  writ  issued  by  the  borough  court 
'TI  June  1UIO,  at  the  suit  of  Shakespeare,  for  the  recovery  of  a  small 
«'Jin.     A  similar  occurrence  had  taken  place  in  1604,  when  our  poet 
sought  to  recover  I/  15*.  Od.  from  a  person  of  the  name  of  Rogers,  fat 
corn  sold   to  him.      These  facts  are  ascertained  from  the  existing 
records  of  Stratford 


THE    LIFE    OB 

are  left  to  infer  that  he  did  not  die  in  possession  of  it 
having  disposed  of  it  before  he  finally  retired  to  Stratford 

It  is  to  be  recollected  also  that  the  species  of  interest  he 
had  in  the  Blackfriars  theatre,  independently  of  his  shares 
in  the  receipts,  was  peculiarly  perishable :  it  consisted  of  the 
wardrobe  and  properties,  which  in  1608,  when  the  city 
authorities  contemplated  the  purchase  of  the  whole  estab- 
lishment, were  valued  at  500/. ;  and  we  may  feel  assured 
that  he  would  sell  them  to  the  company  which  had  had  the 
constant  use  of  them,  and  doubtless  had  paid  an  annual 
consideration  to  the  owner.  The  fee,  or  freehold,  of  the 
house  and  ground  was  in  the  hands  of  Richard  Burbage, 
and  from  him  it  descended  to  his  two  sons :  that  was  a  per- 
manent and  substantial  possession,  very  different  in  its 
character  and  durability  from  the  dresses  and  machinery 
which  belonged  to  Shakespeare.  The  mere  circumstance 
of  the  nature  of  Shakespeare's  property  in  the  Blackfriars 
seems  to  authorize  the  conclusion,  that  he  sold  it  before  he 
retired  to  the  place  of  his  birth,  where  he  meant  to  spend 
the  rest  of  his  days  with  his  family,  in  the  tranquil  enjoy- 
ment of  the  independence  he  had  secured  by  the  exertions 
of  five  and  twenty  years.  Supposing  him  to  have  begun 
his  theatrical  career  at  the  end  of  1586,  as  we  have  ima- 
gined, the  quarter  of  a  century  would  be  completed  by  the 
close  of  1612,  and  for  aught  we  know,  that  might  be  the 
period  Shakespeare  had  in  his  mind  fixed  upon  for  the  ter- 
mination of  his  toils  and  anxieties. 

It  has  been  ascertained  that  Edward  Allevn,  the  actor- 
founder  of  the  college  of  "  God's  Gift "  at  JDulwich,  pur- 
chased property  in  the  Blackfriars  in  April  1612',  and  al- 
though it  may  possibly  have  been  theatrical,  there  seems 
sufficient  reason  to  believe  that  it  was  not,  but  that  it  con- 
sisted of  certain  leasehold  houses,  for  which  according  to 
his  own  account-book,  he  paid  a  quarterly  rent  of  40£.  The 
brief  memorandum  upon  this  point,  preserved  at  Dulwich, 
certainly  relates  to  any  thing  rather  than  to  the  species  of 
interest  which  Shakespeare  indisputably  had  in  the  ward- 
robe and  properties  of  the  Blackfriars  theatre":  the  terms 

>  See  tht  •'  Memoirs  of  Edward  Alleyn,"  p.  105,  where  a.  conjecture 
M  hastily  hazarded  that  it  might  be  Shakespeare's  interest  in  the 
Blackfriars  theatre.  Upon  this  question  we  agree  with  Mr.  Knight 
in  "  bhakspere,  a  Biography,"  prefixed  to  his  pictorial  edition  of  the 
Toet's  works. 

*  It  is  in  the  following  form,  upon  a  small  damp-injured  piece  of 
paper,  and  obviously  a  mere  memorandum. 

"April  101 .2, 

"  Money  paid  ',y  me  E.  A.  for  the  Blackfryers        .     160U 
More  for  the  Blackfryers  .  ...     l'>6" 

More  again  for  the  Leasse 310n 

The  writinges  for  the  same  and  other  small  charges       3"  6"  8* 
If  this  paper  had  any  r  lation  at  all  to  the  theatre  in  the  Blackfr.oxs, 
it  is  very  evident  that  Shakespeare  could  neither  srant  nor  sell  a 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 

A-leyn  uses  would  apply  only  to  tenements  or  ground,  and 
as  Burbage  valued  his  freehold  of  the  theatre  at  1000/.,  we 
need  not  hesitate  in  deciding  that  the  lease  Alleyu  pur- 
chased for  599/.  6s.  8d.  was  not  a  lease  of  the  play-house. 
We  shall  see  presently  that  Shakespeare  himself,  though 
under  some  peculiar  circumstances,  became  the  owner  of  a 
dwelling-house  in  the  Blackfriars,  unconnected  with  the 
theatre,  very  soon  after  he  had  taken  up  his  abode  at  Strat- 
ford, and  Alleyn  probably  had  made  a  similar,  but  a  larger 
investment  in  the  same  neighbourhood  in  1612.  Whatever, 
in  fact,  became  of  Shakespeare's  interest  in  the  Blackfriars 
theatre,  both  as  a  sharer  and  as  the  owner  of  the  wardrobe 
and  properties,  we  need  not  hesitate  in  concluding  that,  in 
the  then  prosperous  state  of  theatrical  affairs  in  the  metro- 
polis, he  was  easily  able  to  procure  a  purchaser. 

He  must  also  have  had  a  considerable  stake  in  the  Globe, 
but  whether  he  was  also  the  owner  of  the  same  species  of 
property  there,  as  at  the  Blackfriars,  we  can  only  speculate. 
We  should  think  it  highly  probable  that,  as  far  as  the  mere 
wardrobe  was  concerned,  the  same  dresses  were  made  to 
serve  for  both  theatres,  and  that  when  the  summer  season 
commenced  on  the  Bankside,  the  necessary  apparel  waa 
conveyed  across  the  water  from  the  Blackfriars,  and  re- 
mained there  until  the  company  returned  to  their  winter 
quarters.  There  is  no  hint  in  any  existing  document  what 
became  of  our  great  dramatist's  interest  in  the  Globe ;  but 
here  again  we  need  not  doubt,  from  the  profit  that  had 
always  attended  the  undertaking,  that  he  could  have  had  no 
difficulty  in  finding  parties  to  take  it  off  his  hands.  Burbage 
we  know  was  rich,  for  he  died  in  16191  worth  300/.  a  year 

lease  ;  and  it  is  quite  clear  that  Burbage  did  not,  because  he  remained 
in  possession  of  the  playhouse  at  the  time  of  his  death  :  his  sons  en- 
joyed it  afterwards  :  and  Alleyn  continued  to  pay  4(W.  a  quarter  for 
tire  property  he  held  until  his  decease  in  1(526. 

1  We  have  already  inserted  an  extract  from  an  epitaph  upon  Bur- 
bage, in  which  the  writer  enumerates  many  of  the  characters  he  sus- 
tained. The  following  lines  in  Sloane  MS.  No.  17S(i,  (pointed  out 
to  us  by  Mr.  Bruce)  are  just  worth  preserving  on  account  of  the  emi- 
nence of  the  man  to  whom  they  relate. 

•'An  Epitaph  on  Mr.  RICHARD  BUHBAGE,  the  Player. 
"  This  life's  a  pla.y,  scean'd  out  by  nature's  art, 

Where  every  man  has  his  allotted  parte. 

This  man  hath  now,  as  many  men  can  tell, 

Ended  his  part,  and  he  hath  acted  well. 

Th    play  now  ended,  thinke  his  grave  to  bee 

The  retiring  house  of  his  sad  tragedie  ; 

Where  to  give  his  fame  this  be  not  afraid  :— 

Here  lies  the  best  Tragedian  ever  play'd." 

From  hence  we  might  infer,  against  other  authorities,  that  wh.i.1 
was  called  the  "  tiring  room  "  in  theatres,  was  so  called  because  th<! 
actors  ret/rid  to  it.  and  not  nttireil  in  it.  It  most  likely  answered 
both  purposes,  but  we  sometimes  find  it  called  "  the  attiring  room  " 
by  authors  of  the  time. 


ClxXXlV  THE    LIFE    OF 

in  land,  besides  his  personal  property,  and  he  and  othera 
would  have  been  glad  to  add  to  their  capital,  so  advantage- 
ously employed,  by  purchasing  Shakespeare's  interest. 

It  is  possible,  as  we  have  said,  that  Shakespeare  conti 
oued  to  employ  his  pen  for  the  stage  after  his  Retirement 
to  Stiatfora,  and  the  buyers  of  his  shares  might  even  make 
it  a  condition  that  he  should  do  so  for  a  time ;  but  we  much 
doubt  whether,  with  his  long  experience  of  the  necessity  of 
personal  superintendence,  he  would  have  continued  a  share- 
holder in  any  concern  of  the  kind  over  which  he  had  no 
control.  During  the  whole  of  his  life  in  connexion  with  the 
stage,  even  after  he  quitted  it  as  an  actor,  he  seems  to  have 
been  obliged  to  reside  in  London,  apart  from  his  family,  for 
the  purpose  of  watching  over  his  interests  in  the  two  thea- 
tres to  which  he  belonged  :  had  he  been  merely  an  author, 
after  he  ceased  to  be  an  actor,  he  might  have  composed  his 
dramas  as  well  at  Stratford  as  in  London,  visiting  the  me- 
tropolis only  while  a  new  play  was  in  rehearsal  and  pre- 
paration ;  but  such  was  clearly  not  the  case,  and  we  may 
be  confident  that  when  he  retired  to  a  place  so  distant 
from  the  scene  of  his  triumphs,  he  did  not  allow  his  mind 
to  be  encumbered  by  the  continuance  of  professional 
anxieties. 

It  may  seem  difficult  to  reconcile  with  this  consideration 
the  undoubted  fact,  that  in  the  spring  of  1613  Shakespeare 
purchased  a  house,  and  a  small  piece  of  ground  attached  to 
it,  not  far  from  the  Blackfriars  theatre,  in  which  we  believe 
him  to  have  disposed  of  his  concern  in  the  preceding  year. 
The  documents  relating  to  this  transaction  have  come  down 
to  us,  and  the  indenture  assigning  the  property  from  Henry 
Walker,  "  citizen  of  London  and  minstrel  of  London,"  to 
William  Shakespeare,  "of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  the 
county  of  Warwick,  gentleman,"  bears  date  10th  March, 
1612-13':  the  consideration  money  was  140/.;  the  house 
was  situated  "  \v  ithin  the  precinct,  circuit,  and  compass  of 
the  late  Blackfriars,"  and  we  are  farther  informed  that  it 
stood  "  right  against  his  Majesty's  Wardrobe."  It  appears 
to  have  been  merely  a  dwelling-house  with  a  small  yard, 
and  not  in  any  way  connected  with  the  theatre,  which  was 

i  It  was  solJ  by  auction  by  Messrs.  Evans,  of  Pall  Mall,  in  1841, 
fn  165W.  15».  The  autograph  of  our  poet  was  appended  to  it,  in  tha 
usual  manner.  In  the  next  year  the  instrument  was  again  brought 
to  the  hammer  of  the  same  parties,  when  it  produced  nearly  the  sum 
for  which  it  had  been  sold  in  1841.  The  autograph  of  Shakespeare. 
on  the  fly-leaf  of  Fiorio's  translation  of  Montaigne's  Essays,  folio. 
H><U,  (which  we  feel  satisfied  is  genuine)  had  been  previously  sold 
by  auction  for  10U/.,  and  it  is  now  deposited  in  the  British  Museum. 
We  have  a  copy  of  the  same  book,  but  it  has  only  upon  the  title- 
page  the  comparatively  worthless  signature  of  the  reigning 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 

at  some  dist<once  from  the  royal  -wardrobe,  although  John 
Heminge,  the  actor,  was,  with  Shakespeare,  a  party  to  the 
deed,  as  woll  as  William  Johnson,  vintner,  and  John  Jack- 
son, gentleman. 

Shakespeare  may  have  made  this  purchase  as  an  accom- 
modation in  some  way  to  his  "  friend  and  fellow"  Hemiuge, 
and  the  two  other  persons  named;  and  it  is  to  be  re- 
marked that,  on  the  day  after  the  date  of  the  conveyance, 
Shakespeare  mortgaged  the  house  to  Henry  Walker,  the 
vendor,  for  60/.,  having  paid  down  only  80/.  on  the  10th 
March.  It  is  very  possible  that  our  poet  advanced  the  80/. 
to  Heminge,  Johnson,  and  Jackson,  expecting  that  they 
would  repay  him.  and  furnish  the  remaining  60/.  before  the 
29th  September,  1613,  the  time  stipulated  in  the  mortgage 
deed ;  but  as  they  did  not  do  so,  but  left  it  to  him,  the 
house  of  course  continued  the  property  of  Shakespeare,  and 
after  his  death  it  was  necessarily  surrendered  to  the  uses 
of  his  will  by  Hemiuge,  Johnson,  and  Jackson1. 

Such  may  have  been  the  nature  of  the  transaction ;  and 
if  it  were,  it  will  account  for  the  apparent  (and,  we  have  no 
doubt,  only  apparent)  want  of  means  on  the  part  of  Shake- 
8pear  to  pay  down  the  whole  of  the  purchase-money  in  the 
first  instance :  he  only  agreed  to  lend  80/,  leaving  the  par- 
tie*  whom  he  assisted  to  provide  the  rest,  and  by  repaying 
him  what  he  had  advanced  (if  they  had  done  so)  to  entitle 
themselves  to  the  house  in  question. 

Shakespeare  must  have  been  in  London  when  he  put  his 
signature  to  the  conveyance ;  but  we  are  to  recollect,  that 
the  circumstance  of  his  being  described  in  it  as  "  of  Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon"  is  by  no  means  decisive  of  the  fact,  that 
his  usual  place  of  abode  in  the  spiing  of  1613  was  his 
native  town :  he  had  a  similar  description  in  the  deeds  by 
which  he  purchased  107  acres  of  land  from  John  and  Wil- 
liam Combe  in  1602,  and  a  lease  of  a  moiety  of  the  tithes 
from  Ruphe  Huband  in  1605,  although  it  is  indisputable 
that  at  those  periods  he  was  generally  resident  in  London. 
From  these  facts  it  seems  likely  that  our  great  dramatist 
preferred  to  be  called  "  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,"  contem- 
plating, as  he  probably  did  through  the  whole  of  his  thea- 
trical life,  a  return  thither  as  soon  as  his  circumstances 
would  enable  him  to  do  so  with  comfort  and  independence. 
We  are  thoroughly  convinced,  however,  that,  anterior  to 
March,  1613,  Shakespeare  had  taken  up  his  permanent  re- 
sidence with  his  family  at  Stratford. 

1  By  his  -will  he  left  this  house,  occupied  by  a  person  of  the  nam« 
»f  John  Rotinson,  to  his  daughter  Susar.na. 
VOL.    I.  13 


THE    LIFE    OV 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Members  of  tl.e  Shakespeare  family  at  Stratford  in  1612. 
Joan  Shakespeare  and  William  Hart:  their  marriage  and 
family.  William  Shakespeare's  chancery  suit  respecting 
the  tithes  of  Stratford  ;  and  the  income  he  derived  from 
the  lease.  The  Globe  burnt  in  1613 :  its  reconstruction. 
Destructive  fire  at  Stratford  in  1614.  Shakespeare's  visit 
to  London  afterwards.  Proposed  inclosnre  of  Welcomle 
fields.  Allusion  to  Shakespeare  in  the  historical  poem  of 
"  The  Ghost  of  Kichard  the  Third,"  published  in  1614. 

THE  immediate  members  of  the  Shakespeare  family  re- 
sident at  this  date  in  Stratford  -were  comparatively  few. 
Richard  Shakespeare  had  died  at  the  age  of  forty1,  only 
about  a  month  before  William  Shakespeare  signed  the 
deed  for  the  purchase  of  the  house  in  Blackfriars.  Since 
the  death  of  Edmund,  Richard  had  been  our  poet's  youngest 
brother,  but  regarding  his  way  of  life  at  Stratford  we  have 
uo  information.  Gilbert  Shakespeare,  born  two  years  and 
a  half  after  William,  was  also  probably  at  this  time  an  in- 
habitant of  the  borough,  or  its  immediate  neighbourhood, 
and  perhaps  married,  for  in  the  register,  under  date  of  3rd 
February,  1611-12,  we  read  an  account  of  the  burial  of 
"  Gilbertus  Shakspeare,  adolescents?  who  might  be  his  son. 
Joan  Shakespeare,  who  was  five  years  younger  than  her 
brother  William,  had  been  married  at  about  the  age  of 
thirty  to  William  Hart,  a  hatter,  in  Stratford;  but  as  the 
ceremony  was  not  performed  in  that  parish,  it  does  not  ap- 
pear in  the  register.  Their  first  child,  William,  was  bap- 
tized on  28th  August,  1600,  and  they  had  afterwards  chil- 
dren of  the  names  of  Mary,  Thomas,  and  Michael,  born  re- 
spectively in  1603",  1605,  and  16083.  Our  poet's  eldest 
daughter,  Susanna,  who,  as  we  have  elsewhere  stated,  was 
married  to  Mr.  John,  afterwards  Dr.  Hall,  in  June,  1607, 
produced  a  daughter  who  was  baptized  Elizabeth  on  21st 

1  The  register  of  Stratford  merely  contains  the  following  among 
Uie  deaths  in  the  parish  : — 

"  1612.  Feb.  4    Rich.  Shakspeare." 

1  It  appears  by  the  register  that  Mary  Hart  died  in  1607.  When 
Ehakesneare  made  his  will,  a  blank  was  left  for  the  name  of  his  ne- 
phew Thomas  Hart,  as  if  he  had  not  recollected  it ;  but  perhaps  it 
•was  merely  the  omission  of  the  scrivener.  The  Harts  Hved  in  a 
house  belonging  to  Shakespeare. 

3  It  has  been  generally  stated  that  Charles  Hart,  the  celebrated 
actor  after  the  Restoration,  was  the  grand-nephew  of  Shakespeare, 
son  to  the  eldest  son  of  Shakespeare's  sister  Joan,  but  we  are  without 
positive  evidence  upon  the  point.  In  16*2  a  person  of  the  name  of 
Hart  kept  a  house  of  entertainment  close  to  the  Fortune  theatre,  and 
he  may  have  been  the  son  of  Shakespeare's  sister  Joan,  wid  th« 
father  of  Charles  Hart  the  actor,  who  di.d  about  1679. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  clxXXVU 

February,  1607-8  ;  so  that  Shakespeare  was  a  grandfather 
before  he  had  reached  his  forty -fifth  year  ;  but  Mrs.  Hall 
had  no  farther  increase  of  family. 

By  whom  New  Place,  otherwise  called  "  the  great 
house,"  was  inhabited  at  this  period,  we  can  only  conjecture. 
That  Shakespeare's  wife  and  his  youngest  daughter  Judith 
(who  completed  her  twenty-eighth  year  in  February,  1612,) 
resided  in  it,  we  cannot  doubt ;  but  as  it  would  be  much 
more  than  they  would  require,  even  after  they  were  per- 
manently joined  by  our  great  dramatist  on  his  retirement 
from  London,  we  may  perhaps  conclude  that  Mr.  and  Mrs 
Hall  were  joint  occupiers  of  it,  and  aided  in  keeping  up 
the  vivacity  of  the  family  circle.  Shakespeare  himself 
only  completed  his  forty-eighth  year  in  April,  1612,  and 
every  tradition  and  circumstance  of  his  life  tends  to  estab- 
lish not  only  the  gentleness  and  kindness,  but  the  habitual 
cheerfulness  of  his  disposition. 

Nevertheless,  although  we  suppose  him  to  have  sepa- 
rated himself  from  the  labours  and  anxieties  attendant 
upon  his  theatrical  concerns,  he  was  not  without  his  an- 
noyances, though  of  a  different  kind.  We  refer  to  a  chan- 
cery suit  in  which  he  seems  to  have  been  involved  by  the 
purchase,  in  1605,  of  the  remaining  term  of  a  lease  of  part  of 
the  tithes  of  Stratford.  It  appears  that  a  rent  of  27 /.  1 3s.  4<£ 
had  been  reserved,  which  was  to  be  paid  by  certain  lessees 
under  peril  of  forfeiture,  but  that  some  of  the  parties,  disre- 
garding the  consequences,  had  refused  to  contribute  their  pro- 
portions ;  and  Richard  Lane,  of  Awston,  Esquire,  Thomas 
Greene,  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  Esquire,  and  William 
Shakespeare,  "  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  gentleman,"  were 
under  the  necessity  of  filing  a  bill  before  Lord  Ellesmere,  to 
compel  all  the  persons  deriving  estates  under  the  dissolved 
college  of  Stratford  to  pay  their  shares.  What  was  the 
issue  of  the  suit  is  not  any  where  stated ;  and  the  only  im- 
portant point  in  the  draft  of  the  bill,  in  the  hands  of  the 
Shakespeare  Society,  is,  that  our  great  dramatist  therein 
stated  the  value  of  his  "moiety"  of  the  tithes  to  be  GO^.per 
annum. 

In  the  summer  of  1613  a  calamity  happened  which  we 
do  not  believe  affected  our  author's  immediate  interests,  on 
account  of  the  strong  probability  that  he  had  taken  care  to 
divest  himself  of  all  theatrical  property  before  he  finally 
took  up  his  residence  in  his  birth-place.  The  Globe,  which 
had  been  in  use  for  about  eighteen  years,  was  burned  down 
on  29th  June,  1613,  in  consequence  of  the  thatch,  with 
which  it  was  partially  cover  d,  catching  fire  from  the  dis- 


THE   LIFE    OF 

charge  of  some  theatrical  artillery1.  It  is  doubtful  what 
play  was  then  in  a  course  of  representation :  Sir  Henry 
Wotton  gives  it  the  title  of  "  All  is  True,"  and  calls  it  "a 
new  play ;"  while  Howes,  in  his  continuation  of  Stowe's 
Annales,  distinctly  states  that  it  was  "  Henry  the  Eighth4." 
It  is  very  possible  that  both  may  be  right,  and  that  Shake- 
speare's historical  drama  was  that  night  revived  under  a 
new  name,  and  therefore  mistakenly  called  "  a  new  play" 
by  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  although  it  had  been  nearly  ten 
years  on  the  stage.  The  Globe  was  rebuilt  in  the  next 
year,  as  we  are  told  on  what  may  be  considered  good  autho- 
rity, at  the  cost  of  King  James  and  of  many  noblemen  and 
gentlemen,  who  seem  to  have  contributed  sums  of  money 
for  the  purpose.  If  James  I.  lent  any  pecuniary  aid  on  the 
occasion,  it  affords  another  out  of  many  proofs  of  his  dis- 
position to  encourage  the  drama,  and  to  assist  the  players 
who  acted  under  the  royal  name3.  Although  Shakespeare 

i  John  Taylor,  the  water-poet,  was  a  spectator  of  the  calamity, 
(perhaps  in  his  own  wherry)  and  thus  celebrated  it  in  an  epigram, 
which  he  printed  in  1614  in  his  "  Nipping  and  Snipping  of  Abuses," 


"Aspiring  Phaeton,  with  pride  inspirde, 
Misguiding  Phoebus  carre,  the  worlde  he  firde  ; 
But  Ovid  did  with  fiction  serve  his  turne, 
And  I  in  action  saw  the  Globe  to  burne/' 

»  See  "Hist    of  Engl.  Dram.  Poetry  and   the  Stage,"  vol.  i.  p 
386,  and  vol.  iii.  p.  296. 


l.  iii.  p. 

3  This  fact,  with  several  other  new  and  curious  particulars  resp 
ing  the  fate  of  the  Blackfriars  theatre,  the  Whitefriars  (called 
Salisbury  Court)  theatre,  the  Phoenix,  the  Fortune,  and  the  Hope 


espect 
ed  the 
Hope 

(which  was  also  at  times  used  for  bear-baiting)  is  contained  in  some 
manuscript  notes  to  a  copy  of  Stowe's  Jlnnales,  by  Howes,  folio,  1(531, 
in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Pickering  :  they  appear  to  have  been  made 

Slobe  is  there  erroneously  fixed  in  1612.  When,  too,  it  is  said  that 
the  Hope  was  built  in  1610,  the  meaning  must  be  that  it  was  then 
reconstructed,  so  as  to  be  adapted  to  both  purposes,  stage-plays  and 
bear-baiting.  The  memoranda  are  thus  headed:  ''A  note  of  such 
passages  as  have  beene  omitted,  and  as  I  have  seene,  since  the  print- 
ing of  Stowe's  Survey  of  London  in  4to,  1618,  and  this  Chronicle  at 
large.  1631." 

"  PLAY  HOUSES.—  The  Globe  play  house,  on  the  Bank  side  in 
Bouthwarke.  was  burnt  downe  to  the  ground  in  the  yeare  1612.  And 
new  built  up  againe  in  the  yeare  1613,  at  the  great  charge  of  King 
James,  and  many  noble  men.  and  others.  And  now  pulled  downe  to 
the  ground  by  Sir  Mathew  Brand  on  Munday,  the  15  of  April,  1644, 
to  make  tenements  in  the  rome  of  it- 

"  The  Black  Friers  play  house,  in  Black  Friers  London,  which  had 


,  ers     onon, 

stood  many  yeares,  was  pulled  down  to  the  ground  on  Munday,  the 
and  tenements  built  in  the  roome. 


soo     many  yeares,  was 

6  day  of  August.  1655,  an  . 

Ihe  play  house  in  Salisbury  Court,  in  Fleete  streete,  was  pulled 
down  by  a  company  of  souldiers,  set  on  by  the  Sectaries  of  these  sad 
times,  on  Saturday,  the  24th  day  of  March,  1049. 

"The  Phenix:  in   Druery  Lane,  was  pulled  down  also  this  d»y 
Wmg  baturday  the  24th  of  March,  1649,  by  the  same  souldien. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE. 

might  not  be  in  any  way  pecuniarily  affected  by  the  event, 
we  may  be  sure  that  he  would  not  le  backward  in  using 
his  influence,  and  perhaps  in  rendering  assistance  by  a  gift 
of  money,  for  the  reconstruction  of  a  playhouse  in  which  he 
had  often  acted,  from  which  he  had  derived  so  much  profit, 
and  in  the  continuance  of  the  performances  at  which  so 
many  of  his  friends  and  fellows  were  deeply  interested. 

He  must  himself  have  had  an  escape  from  a  similar  dis- 
aster at  Stratford  in  the  very  next  year.  Fires  had  broken 
out  in  the  borough  in  1594  and  lf>95,  which  had  destroyed 
many  of  the  houses,  then  built  of  vood,  or  of  materials  not 
calculated  to  resist  combustion ;  but  that  which  occurred  on 
the  9th  July,  1614,  seems  to  have  done  more  damage  than 
both  its  predecessors.  At  the  instance  of  various  gentlemen 
in  the  neighbourhood,  including  Sir  Fulk  Greville,  Sir  Rich- 
ard Veruey,  and  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  King  James  issued  a 
proclamation,  or  brief,  dated  llth  May,  1615,  in  favour  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Stratford,  authorizing  the  collection  of 
donations  in  the  different  churches  of  the  kingdom  for  the 
restoration  of  the  town  ;  and  alleging  that  within  two  hours 
the  fire  had  consumed  "  fifty-four  dwelling-houses,  many  of 
them  being  very  fair  houses,  besides  barns,  stables,  and 
other  houses  of  office,  together  also  with  great  store  of  corn, 
hay,  straw,  wood,  and  timber."  The  amount  of  loss  is  stated, 
on  the  same  authority,  to  be  "  eight  thousand  pounds  and 
upwards1."  What  was  the  issue  of  this  charitable  appeal 
to  the  whole  kingdom,  we  know  not 

It  is  very  certain  that  the  dwelling  of  our  great  drama- 
tist, called  New  Place,  escaped  the  conflagration,  and  his 
property,  as  far  as  we  can  judge,  seems  to  have  been  situ- 
ated in  a  part  of  the  town  which  fortunately  did  not  suffer 
from  the  ravages  of  the  fire. 

The  name  of  Shakespeare  is  not  found  among  those  of 

"  The  Fortune  play  house,  between  White  Crosse  streete  and  Gold- 
ing  Lane,  was  burned  down  to  the  ground  in  the  year  1618.  And 
built  againe,  with  bncke  worke  on  the  outside,  in  the  year  1622  ;  and 
now  pulld  downe  on  the  inside  by  these  souldiers,  this  1649. 

"Tie  Hope,  on  the  Banke  side  in  Southwarke.  commonly  called 
are  Garden  :  a  play  house  for  stage  playes  on  Mundays,  Wed- 
es,  Fridayes.  and  Saterdayes  ;  and  for  the  baiting  of  the  beares 
on  Tuesdays  and  Thursdayes — the  stage  being  made  to  take  np  and 
down  when  they  please.  It  was  built  in  the  year  1610;  and  now 
pulle  downe  to  make  tenements  by  Thomas  Walker,  a  peticoate 
maker  in  Cannon  Streete,  on  Tuesday  the  2o  day  of  March,  1656. 
Seven  of  Mr.  Godtries  beares,  by  the  command  of  Thomas  Piide,  then 
hie  Sherefe  of  Surry,  were  shot  to  death  on  Saturday,  the  9  day  of 
February,  1655,  by  a  company  of  souldiers." 

i  We  take  these  particulars  from  a  copy  of  the  document  "  printed 
by  Thomas  Purfoot,"  who  then  had  a  patent  for  all  proclamations, 

tsual.     It  is  in  the  possession  of  the  Shakespeare  Society. 


the  B 


CXC  THE    LIFE    OF 

inhabitants  whose  certificate  was  stated  to  be  the  immediate 
ground  ibr  issuing  the  royal  brief l,  but  it  is  not  at  all  un- 
likely that  he  was  instrumental  in  obtaining  it.  We  are 
sure  that  he  was  in  London  in  November  following  the  fire2.. 
and  possibly  was  taking  some  steps  in  favour  of  his  fellow- 
townsmen.  However,  his  principal  business  seems  to  have 
related  to  the  projected  inclosure  of  certain  common  lauds 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Stratford  in  which  he  had  an  in- 
terest Some  inquiries  as  to  the  rights  of  various  parties 
were  instituted  in  September,  1614,  as  we  gather  from  a 
document  yet  preserve  1,  and  which  is  now  before  us.  The 
individuals  whose  claims  are  set  out  are,  "  Mr.  Shakespeare," 
Thomas  Parker,  Mr.  Lane,  Sir  Francis  Smith,  Mace,  Arthur 
Cawdrey,  and  "  Mr.  Wright,  vicar  of  Bishopton."  All  that 
it  is  necessary  to  quote  is  the  following,  which  refers  to 
Shakespeare,  and  which,  like  the  rest,  is  placed  under  the 
head  of  "  Auncient  Freeholders  in  the  fields  of  Old  Strat- 
ford and  Welcome." 

"  Mr.  Shakspeare,  4  yard  land3 :  noe  common,  nor  ground 
beyond  Gospel!  biwhe  :  noe  ground  in  Sandfield,  nor  none  in 
Slow  Hill  field  beyond  Bishoptou,  nor  none  in  the  enclosures 
beyond  Bishoptou." 

The  date  of  this  paper  is  5th  September,  1614,  and,  aa 
we  have  said,  we  may  presume  that  it  was  chiefly  upon  this 
business  that  Shakespeare  came  to  London  on  the  16th  No- 
vember. It  should  appear  that  Thomas  Greene,  of  Strat- 
ford, was  officially  opposing  the  inclosure  on  the  part  of  the 
corporation ;  and  it  is  probable  that  Shakespeare's  wishes 
were  accordant  with  those  of  the  majority  of  the  inhabi- 
tants :  however  this  might  be,  (and  it  is  liable  to  dispute 
which  party  Shakespeare  favoured)  the  members  of  the  mu- 
nicipal body  of  the  borough  were  nearly  unanimous,  and,  as 
far  as  we  can  learn  from  the  imperfect  particulars  remain- 
ing upon  this  subject,  they  wished  our  poet  to  use  his  influence 
to  resist  the  project,  which  seems  to  have  been  supported 
by  Mr.  Arthur  Mainwaring,  then  resident  in  the  family  of 
Lord  Ellesmere  as  auditor  of  his  domestic  expenditure. 

1  The  name  of  his  friend  William  Combe  is  found  among  the  ic  es- 
quires" enumerated  in  the  body  of  the  instrument. 
.  «  1  his  fact  appears  in  a  letter,  written  by  Thomas  Greene,  ou  17th 
November,  1014,  in  which  he  tells  some  person  in  Stratford  that  he 
dr     bf"  l°  868  ''  h'S  COU8in  Snakespeare,"  who  had  reached  town  the 

3  Malone  inlorms  us.  without  mentioning  his  authority,  that  "  in 
co"ntaiened°o  °'d  Stratford>  where  our  Poet,',s  estate  Ia7>  a  Vard  land 
indifferent  places:  he  derives  the  term  from  the  Sixon^gyrd^and, 
PIT*Y,M  terra.— Shakspeare,  by  Boswell,  vol.  ii.  p.  25.  Acccrding 
to  the  same  autho  ity,  a  yard  land  in  Wilmeoote  consisted  of  more 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXC' 

It  is  very  likely  that  Shakespeare  saw  Maiuwaring ;  and, 
as  it  was  only  five  or  six  years  since  his  name  had  been  es- 
pecially brought  under  the  notice  of  the  Lord  Chancellor 
iu  relation  to  the  claim  of  the  city  authorities  to  jurisdiction 
in  the  Blackfriars,  it  is  not  impossible  that  Shakespeare 
may  have  had  an  interview  with  Lord  Ellesmere,  who 
seems  at  all  times  to  have  been  of  a  very  accessible  and 
kindly  disposition.  Greene  was  in  London  on  the  17th  No- 
vember, and  sent  to  Stratford  a  short  account,  of  his  pro- 
ceedings on  the  question  of  the  inclosure,  in  which  he  men- 
tioned that  he  had  seen  Shakespeare  and  Mr.  Hall  (proba- 
bly meaning  Shakespeare's  son-in-law)  on  the  preceding 
day,  who  told  him  that  they  thought  nothing  would  be 
done1.  Greene  returned  to  Stratford  soon  afterwards,  and 
having  left  our  poet  in  London,  at  the  instance  of  the  cor- 
poration, he  subsequently  wrote  two  letters,  one  to  Shake- 
speare, and  the  other  to  Maiuwariug,  (the  latter  only  has 
been  preserved)  setting  forth  in  strong  terms  the  injury  the 
inclosure  would  do  to  Stratford,  and  the  heavy  loss  the  in- 
habitants had  not  long  before  sustained  from  the  fire.  A 
petition  was  also  prepared  and  presented  to  the  privy 
council,  and  we  may  gather  that  the  opposition  was  effect- 
ual, because  nothing  was  done  in  the  business :  the  common 
fields  of  Welcombe,  which  it  had  been  intended  to  inclose, 
remained  opeu  for  pasture  as  before. 

How  soon  after  the  matter  relating  to  the  inclosure  had 
been  settled  Shakespeare  returned  to  Stratford, — how  long 
he  remained  there,  or  whether  he  ever  came  to  London 
again, — we  are  without  information.  He  was  very  possibly 
in  the  metropolis  at  the  time  when  a  narrative  poem, 
founded  in  part  upon  his  historical  play  of  "  Richard  III.," 
was  published,  and  which  until  now  has  escaped  observa- 
tion, although  it  contains  the  clearest  allusion,  not  indeed  by 
name,  to  our  author  and  to  his  tragedy.  It  is  called  ''  The 
Ghost  of  Richard  the  Third,"  and  it  bears  date  in  1614; 

1  The  memorandum  of  the  contents  of  his  letter  (to  which  we  have 
already  referred  on  p  Ixii.)  is  in  these  terms,  avoiding  abbreviations  : — > 

'•  Jovis,  17  No.  My  cosen  Shakespeare  comyng  yesterday.  I  went 
to  see  him.  how  he  did.  He  told  me  that  they  assured  him  they  ment 
to  inclose  no  further  than  to  Gospel  bush,  and  so  upp  straight  (leaving 
out  part  of  the  Dyngles  to  the  field)  to  the  gate  in  Clopton  hedg,  and 
take  in  Salisburys  peece  ;  and  that  they  mean  in  Aprill  to  survey  the 
land,  and  then  to  gyve  satisfaction,  and  not  before  :  and  he  and  Mr 
Hall  say  they  think  there  will  be  nothyng  done  at  all." 

In  what  way.  or  in  what  degree,  Shakespeare  and  Greene  were  re- 
lated, so  that  the  latter  should  call  the  former  his  "cousin,"  must 

parish  register  of  Stratford  shows  that  "  Thomas  Greene,  alias  Shake- 
•peare,"  was  buried  on  6th  March,  1589-90.  Whether  Thoraai 
Sreene,  the  solicitor,  was  any  relation  to  Thomas  Greene,  the  actor, 


CXCU  THE    LIFE    OK 

but  the  writer,  C.  B.,  only  gives  his  initialsi.  We  know  ol 
no  poet  of  that  day  to  whom  they  would  apply,  excepting 
Charles  Best,  who  has  several  pieces  in  Davison's  "  Poetical 
Rliapsody,"  1602,  but  he  has  left  nothing  behind  him  to  in- 
dicate that  he  would  be  capable  of  a  work  of  such  power 
and  variety.  It  is  divided  into  three  portions,  the  "  Cha- 
racter," the  "  Legend,"  and  the  "  Tragedy  "  of  Richard  III. ; 
and  the  second  part  opens  with  the  following  stanzas,  which 
show  the  high  estimate  the  writer  had  formed  of  the  genius 
of  Shakespeare :  they  are  extremely  interesting  as  a  con- 
temporaneous tribute.  Richard,  narrating  his  own  history, 
thus  speaks : — 

"  To  him  that  impt  my  fame  with  Clio's  quill, 
Whose  magick  rais'd  me  from  Oblivion's  deii. 
That  writ  my  storie  on  the  Muses  hill, 
And  with  my  actions  dignified  his  pen  ; 
He  that  from  Helicon  sends  many  a  rill, 
Whose  nectared  veines  are  drunke  by  thirstie  men ; 
Crown'd  be  his  stile  with  fame,  his  head  with  bayes, 
And  none  detract,  but  gratulate  his  praise. 

"  Yet  if  his  sccenes  have  not  engrost  all  grace, 
The  much  t'um'd  action  could  extend  on  stage ; 
If  Time  or  Memory  have  left  a  place 
For  me  to  fill,  t'enforme  this  ignorant  age, 
To  that  intent  I  shew  my  horrid  face, 
Imprest  with  feare  and  characters  of  rage  : 
Nor  wits  nor  chronicles  could  ere  containe 
The  hell-deepe  reaches  of  my  soundlesse  braine2." 

i  And  these  not  on  the  title-page,  but  at  the  end  of  the  prefatory 
matter  :  the  whole  title  runs  thus  :— 

"The  Ghost  of  Richard  the  Third.  Expressing  himselfe  in  these 
three  Parts.  1.  His  Character.  2  His  Legend.  3.  His  Tragedie. 
Containing  more  of  him  than  hath  been  heretofore  shewed,  either  in 
Chronicles,  Playes,  or  Poems.  Lauren  /Jesidite  prabetur  nulla. 
Printed  by  G.  Eld  :  forL  Lisle  :  and  are  to  be  sold  in  Paules  Church- 
yard, at  the  si^ne  of  the  Tygers  head.  1614  ;>  4to. 

It  is  about  to  be  reprinted  by  the  Shakespeare  Society,  and  on  every 
account  it  well  merits  the  distinction. 

*  We  may  suspect,  in  the  last  line  but  one,  that  the  word  "  wits" 
has  been  misprinted  for  acts.  The  stanza  which  follows  the  above 
refers  to  another  play,  founded  on  a  distinct  portion  of  the  same  hii- 
tory,  and  relating  especially  to  Jane  Shore  :— 

"And  what  a  peece  of  justice  did  I  shew 
On  mistresse  Shore,  when  (with  a  fained  hate 
To  unchast  life)  1  forced  her  to  goe 
Barefoote  on  pennance,  with  dejected  state. 
But  now  her  fame  by  a  vile  play  doth  grow. 
Whose  fate  the  women  do  commisserate,"  &c. 

The  allusion  may  here  be  to  Hey  wood's  historical  drama  of  "  Ed- 
ward IV."  (reprinted  by  the  Shakespeare  Society),  in  which  Shore'* 
wife  is  introduced  ;  or  it  may  be  to  a  different  drama  upon  the  event* 
of  her  life,  which,  it  is  known  on  various  authorities,  had  been 
wought  upon  the  stage. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPKARE.  CXC111 

The  above  is  the  last  extant  panegyric  upon  SLake 
gpeare  during  his  lifetime,  and  it  exceed^,  in  point  of  fervour 
and  zeal,  if  not  injudicious  criticism,  any  that  had  gone  be- 
fore it ;  for  Richard  tells  the  reader,  that  the  writer  of  the 
scenes  in  which  he  had  figured  on  the  stage  had  imped 
his  fame  with  the  quill  of  the  historic  muse,  and  that,  by 
the  magic  of  verse,  he  who  had  written  so  much  and  so 
fint.-ly,  iiad  raised  him  from  oblivion.  That  C.  B.  was  an 
author  of  distinction,  and  well  known  to  some  of  the  greatest 
poets  of  the  day,  we  have  upon  their  own  evidence,  from 
the  terms  they  use  in  their  commendatory  poems,  sub- 
scribed by  no  less  names  than  those  of  Ben  Jonson1,  George 
Chapman,  William  Browne,  Robert  Daborne,  and  George 
Wither.  The  author  professes  to  follow  no  particular 
original,  whether  in  prose  or  verse,  narrative  or  dramatic, 
in  "  chronicles,  plays,  or  poems,"  but  to  adopt  the  incidents 
as  they  had  been  handed  down  on  various  authorities.  As 
we  have  stated,  his  work  is  one  of  great  excellence,  but  it 
would  be  going  too  much  out  of  our  way  to  enter  here  into 
any  farther  examination  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Shakespeare's  return  to  Stratford.  Marriage  of  his  daughter 
Judith  to  Thomas  Quiney  in  February,  1616.  Shake- 
speare's will  prepared  in  January,  but' dated  Marcli,  1616. 
His  last  illness:  attended  by  Dr.  Hall,  his  son-in-law. 
Uncertainty  as  to  the  nature  of  Shakespeare's  fatal  malady. 
His  birth-day  and  death-day  the  same.  Entry  of  his  bur  ml 
in  the  register  at  Stratford.  His  will,  and  circumstances  to 
prove  that  it  was  prepared  two  mouths  before  it  was  execut- 
ed. His  bequest  to  his  wife,  and  provision  for  her  by  dower. 

THE  autumn  seems  to  have  been  a  very  usual  time  for 
publishing  new  books,  and  Shakespeare  having  been  in 
London  in  the  middle  of  November,  1614,  as  we  have  re- 
marked, he  was  perhaps  there  when  "  The  Ghost  of  Rich- 
ard the  Third''  came  out,  and,  like  Ben  Jouson,  Chapman, 
and  others,  might  be  acquainted  with  the  author.  He  pro- 
bably returned  home  before  the  winter,  and  passed  the 

'  It  appears  from  Henslowe's  Diary,  that  in  June,  1602,  Ben  .Ton- 
son  was  himself  writing  a  historical  'play,  called  "  Richard  Crook- 
back,"  for  the  Lord  Admiral's  players  at  the  Fortune.  We  have  no 
evidence  that  it  was  ever  completed  or  represented.  Ben  Jonson'i 
testimony  in  favour  of  the  poem  of  C.  B.  is  compressed  into  a  i8\t 


CXCiv  THE    LIFE    OF 

rest  of  his  days  in  tranquil  retirement,  and  in  the  enjoyment 
of  the  society  of  his  friends,  whether  residing  in  the  country, 
or  occasionally  visiting  him  from  the  metropolis.  "  The 
latter  part  of  his  life,"  says  Howe,  "was  spent,  as  all  men 
of  good  sense  -will  wish  theirs  mav  be,  in  ease,  retirement, 
and  the  society  of  his  friends  ;';  and  he  adds  what  cannot  be 
doubted,  that  "his  pleasurable  wit  and  good-nature  en- 
gaged him  in  the  acquaintance,  and  entitled  him  to  the 
friendship  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood."  He 
must  have  been  of  a  lively  and  companionable  disposition ; 
and  his  long  residence  in  London,  amid  the  bustling  and 
varied  scenes  connected  with  his  public  life,  independently 
of  his  natural  powers  of  conversation,  could  not  fail  to  ren- 
der his  society  most  agreeable  and  desirable.  We  can 
readily  believe  that  when  any  of  his  old  associates  of  the 
stage,  whether  authors  or  actors,  came  to  Stratford,  they 
found  a  hearty  welcome  and  free  entertainment  at  his 
house :  and  that  he  would  be  the  last  man,  in  his  pros- 
perity, to  treat  with  slight  or  indifference  those  with  whom, 
in  the  earlier  part  of  his  career,  he  had  been  on  terms  of 
familiar  intercourse.  It  could  not  be  in  Shakespeare's  na- 
ture to  disregard  the  claims  of  ancient  friendship,  especially 
if  it  approached  him  in  a  garb  of  comparative  poverty. 

One  of  the  very  latest  acts  of  his  life  was  bestowing  the 
hand  of  his  daughter  Judith  upon  Thomas  Quiney,  a  vintner 
and  wine-merchant  of  Stratford,  the  son  of  Richard  Quiney. 
She  must  have  been  four  years  older  than  her  husband, 
having,  as  already  stated,  been  born  on  2nd  February,  1585, 
while  he  was  not  bom  until  26th  February,  1589  :  he  was 
consequently  twenty -seven  years  old,  and  she  thirty-one,  at 
the  time  of  their  marriage  in  February,  16161 ;  and  Shake- 
speare thus  became  father-in-law  to  the  son  of  the  friend 
who,  eighteen  years  before,  had  borrowed  of  him  30/.,  and 
who  had  died  on  31st  May,  1602,  while  he  was  bailiff  of 
Stratford.  A  s  there  was  a  difference  of  four  years  in  the 
ages  of  Judith  Shakespeare  and  her  husband,  we  ought 
perhaps  to  receive  that  fact  as  some  testimony,  that  our 
great  dramatist  did  not  see  sufficient  evil  in  such  dispropor- 
tion to  induce  him  to  oppose  the  union. 

1  The  registration  in  the  books  of  Stratford  church  is  this  : 

"  1615-16  Feabruary  10.     Tho  Queeny  tow  Judith  Shakspere."     ' 

The  fruits  of  this   marriage  were  three  sons  ;  viz.   Shakespeare, 

baptized  23rd  November.  1616.  and  buried  May  8th.  1617:  Richard 

baptized  9th  February,   1617-18.  and  buried  26th  February,  1638-9. 

and  Thomas,   baptized    23rd  January.    161<l-20.    and    buried    28th 

January,   1(88-9.    Judith  Quiney,  their  mother,  did  not  die  until 

after  the  Restoration,  and   was  buried  9th  February,  1661-2.     The 

ord  registers  contain  no  entry  of  the  burial  of  Thomas  Q,uiney, 

her  husband,  and  it  is  very  possible,  therefore,  that  he  died  and  WM 

boned  it  London. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXOV 

His  will  had  been  prepared  as  long  before  its  actual  date 
as  25th  January,  1615—16,  and  this  fuet  is  apparent  on  the 
face  of  it :  it  originally  began  "  Vicexi.tno  qninto  die 
January,"  (not  February,  as  Malone  erroneously  read  it) 
but  the  word  January  was  subsequently  struck  through 
with  a  pen,  and  Martij  substituted  by  interlineation.  Pos- 
sibly it  was  not  thought  necessary  to  alter  viceximo  quittfo, 
or  the  25th  March  might  be  the  very  day  the  will  was  exe- 
cuted :  if  it  were,  the  signatures  of  the  testator,  upon  each 
of  the  three  sheets  of  paper  of  which  the  will  consists,  bear 
evidence  (from  the  want  of  firmness  in  the  writing)  that  he 
was  at  that  time  suffering  under  sickness.  It  opens,  it  is 
true,  by  stating  that  he  was  "in  perfect  health  and  me- 
mory," and  such  was  doubtless  the  case  when  the  instru- 
ment was  prepared  in  January,  but  the  execution  of  it 
might  be  deferred  until  he  was  attacked  by  serious  indis- 
position, and  then  the  date  of  the  month  only  might  be 
altered,  leaving  the  assertion  as  to  health  and  memory  as 
it  had  originally  stood.  What  was  the  nature  of  Shake- 
speare's fatal  illness  we  have  no  satisfactory  means  of 
knowing1,  but  it  was  probably  not  of  long  duration  ;  and  if 
when  he  subscribed  his  will  he  had  really  been  in  health, 
we  are  persuaded  that  at  the  age  of  only  fifty-two  he  would 
have  signed  his  name  with  greater  steadiness  and  distinct- 
ness. All  three  signatures  are  more  or  less  infirm  and  ille- 
gible, especially  the  two  first,  but  he  seems  to  have  made 
an  effort  to  write  his  best  when  he  affixed  both  his  names 
at  length  at  the  end,  "  By  me  William  Shakspeare." 

We  hardly  need  entertain  a  doubt  that  he  was  attended 
in  his  last  illness  by  his  son-in-law,  Dr.  Hall,  who  had  then 
been  married  to  Susanna  Shakespeare  more  than  eight  years : 
we  have  expressed  our  opinion  that  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Hall  lived 
in  the  same  house  with  our  poet,  and  it  is  to  be  recollected 
that  in  his  will  he  leaves  New  Place  to  his  daughter  Susan- 
na. Hall  must  have  been  a  man  of  considerable  science  for 

1  The  Rev.  John  Ward's  Diary,  to  which  we  have  before  referred, 
contains  the  following  undated  paragraph  : — 

"  Shakespeare,  Drayton,  and  Ben  Jonson,  had  a  merie  meeting, 
and.  itt  seems,  drank  too  hard,  for  Shakespear  died  of  a  fevour  there 
contracted." 

What  credit  may  be  due  to  this  statement,  preceded  as  it  is  by  the 
Words  •'  it  seems.''  implying  a  doubt  on  the  subject  in  the  writer's 
mind,  we  must  leave  the  reader  to  determine.  That  Shakespeare 
was  of  sober,  though  of  companionable  habits,  we  are  thoroughly 
convinced  :  he  could  not  have  written  seven-and-thirty  plays  (not 
reckoning  alterations  and  additions  now  lost)  in  five-and-twenty 
years  had  he  been  otherwise ;  and  we  are  sure  also,  that  if  Drayton 
S.nd  Ben  Jonson  visited  him  at  Stratford,  he  would  give  them  a  fre« 
«.nd  hearty  welcome.  We  have  no  reason  to  think  that  Drayton 
was  at  all  given  to  intoxication,  although  it  is  certain  that  Ben  Joo- 


CXCVl  THE    LIFE    OF 

the  time  at  which  he  practised,  and  he  has  left  benind  hin. 
proofs  of  his  knowledge  and  skill  in  a  number  of  cast* 
•which  had  come  under  his  own  eye,  and  which  he  described 
in  Latin :  these  were  afterwards  translated  from  his  manu- 
script, and  published  in  1657  by  Jonas  Cooke,  with  the  title 
of  "  Select  Observations  on  English  Bodies',"  but  the  case 
of  Dr.  Hall's  father-in-law  is  not  found  there,  because,  un- 
fortunately the  "  observations"  only  begin  in  1617.  One  of 
the  earliest  of  them  shows  that  an  epidemic,  called  the  "  new 
fever,"  then  prevailed  in  Stratford  and  "  invaded  many." 
Possibly  Shakespeare  was  one  of  these ;  though,  had  such 
been  the  fact,  it  is  not  unlikely  that,  when  speaking  of  "  the 
Lady  Beaufou"  who  suffered  under  it  on  July  1st,  1617,  Dr. 
Hall  would  have  referred  back  to  the  earlier  instance  of  his 
father-in-lawa.  He  does  advert  to  a  tertian  ague  of  which, 
at  a  period  not  mentioned,  he  had  cured  Michael  Drayton, 
("  an  excellent  poet,"  as  Hall  terms  him)  when  he  was,  per- 
haps, on  a  visit  to  Shakespeare.  However,  Drayton,  as  for- 
merly remarked,  was  a  native  of  Warwickshire,  and  Dr. 
Hall  may  have  been  called  in  to  attend  him  elsewhere. 

We  are  left,  therefore,  in  utter  uncertainty  as  to  the  im- 
mediate cause  of  the  death  of  Shakespeare  at  an  age  when 
he  would  be  in  full  possession  of  his  faculties,  and  when  in 
the  ordinary  course  of  nature  he  might  have  lived  many 
years  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  society  of  his  family  and 
friends,  in  that  grateful  and  easy  retirement,  which  had  been 
earned  by  his  genius  and  industry,  and  to  obtain  which  had 
apparently  been  the  main  object  of  many  years  of  toil, 
anxiety,  and  deprivation. 

Whatever  doubt  may  prevail  as  to  the  day  of  the  birth 
of  Shakespeare,  none  can  well  exist  as  to  the  day  of  his 
death.  The  inscription  on  his  monument  in  Stratford  church 
tells  us, 

"Obiit  Anno  Domini  1616. 
jEtalis  53.  die  28  Apr." 

1  For  a  copy  of  this  curious  and  interesting  work,  we  gladly  expresi 
our  obligations  to  Mr.  William  Fricker,  of  Hyde,  near  Manchester. 

»  He  several  times  speaks  of  sicknesses  in  his  own  family,  and  of  the 
nanner  in  which  he  had  removed  them  :  a  case  of  his  own.  in  which 

Shakespeare  in  1G07.  "Mrs.  Hall,  of  Stratford,  my  wife.'Ms  more 
than  once  introduced  in  the  course  of  the  volume,  as  well  as  "  Elis- 
abeth Hall,  my  only  daughter."  Mrs.  Susanna  Hall  died  in  164S, 
wed  66.  and  was  buried  at  Stratford.  Elizabeth  Hall,  her  daughter 
by  Dr.  Hall,  (baptized  on  the  '21st  Feb.  1GU7--.)  and  grand-daughtef 
to  our  poet,  was  married  on  the  -i>d  April.  IB-JO,  to  Mr.  Thomas  Nash, 
(who  died  in  lt>47)  and  on  5th  June,  1G49.  to  Mr.  John  Bernard,  of 
Abingdon,  who  was  knitted  after  the  Restoration.  Lady  Bernard 
•d  childless  in  Ili79.  and  was  buried,  not  at  Stratford  with  her  own 
Umily,  but  at  Abinpdon  with  that  of  her  second  husband.  She  vra* 
the  lMtor  the  lineal  descendants  of  William  Shakespeare. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXCVU 

A*  d  it  is  remarkable  that  he  was  born  and  died  on  the  sam« 
day  of  the  same  month,  supposing  him,  as  we  have  every 
reason  to  believe,  to  have  first  seen  the  light  on  the  23d 
April,  1564.  It  was  most  usual  about  that  period  to  men- 
tion the  day  of  death  in  inscriptions  upon  tomb-stones,  tab- 
lets, and  monuments ;  and  such  was  the  case  with  other 
members  of  the  Shakespeare  family.  We  are  thus  informed 
that  his  wife,  Anne  Shakespeare,  "  departed  this  life  the  6th 
day  of  Augu.  16231 :"  Dr.  Hall  "  deceased  Nove.  25.  A" 
1635' :"  Thomas  Nash,  who  married  Hall's  daughter,  "  died 
April  4,  A.  1647" :"  Susanna  Hall  "  deceased  the  llth  of 
July,  A°.  16494."  Therefore,  although  the  Latb  inscription 

i  The  inscription,  upon  a  brass  plate,  let  into  a  stone,  is  in  these 
terms  : — We  have  to  thank  Mr.  Bruce  for  the  use  of  his  copies  of  them, 
with  which  we  have  compared  our  own. 

"  Heere  lyeth  interred  the  Body  of  Anne,  Wife  of  William  Shake- 
speare, who  departed  this  life  the  6th  day  of  Augu.  1623.  being  of 
the  age  of  67  yeares. 

Ubera,  tu  mater,  tu  lac,  vitamq  ;  dedisti, 

VEB  mihi  :  pro  tanto  munere  saxa  dabo. 
Quam  mallem  amoveat  lapidem  bonus  angel'  ore' 

Exeat  ut  Christi  corpus  imago  tua. 
Sed  nil  vota  valent,  venias  cito  Christe  resurget 
Clausa  licet  tumulo  mater,  et  astra  petit." 

*  The  following  is  the  inscription  commemorating  him. 
"Heere  lyeth  the  Body  of  lohn  Hall,  Gent:  Hee  marr  :  Susanna 

ye  daughter'  and  coheire  of  Will  :  Shakespeare,  Gent.  Hee  deceased 
Nove.  25.  A°.  1635,  aged  60. 

Hallius  hie  situs  est,  medica  celeberrimus  arte, 

Expectans  regni  gaudia  laeta  Dei. 
Dignus  erat  meritis,  qui  Nestora  vinceret  annis, 

In  terris  omnes,  sed  rapit  sequa  dies. 
Ne  tumulo  quid  desit,  adest  ndissima  conjux, 

Et  vitae  comitem  nunc  quoq  ;  mortis  habet." 
3  His  inscription,   in  several  places  difficult  to  be  deciphered,  a 

"  Heere  resteth  ye  Body  of  Thomas  Nashe,  Esq.  He  mar.  Eliza- 
beth the  daug.  and  heire  of  John  Halle,  Gent.  He  died  Aprill  4. 
A,  1647,  Aged  53. 

Fata  manent  omnes  hunc  non  virtute  carentem, 

Ut  neque  divitiis  abstulit  atra  dies  ; 
Abstulit,  at  referet  lux  ultima  :  siste,  viator, 
Si  p'eritura  paras  per  male  parta  peris." 

*  The  inscription  to  her  runs  thus  : 

"Heere  lyeth  v*  body  of  Susanna.  Wife  to  Tohn  Hall,  Gent:  y. 
daughter  of  William  Shakespeare,  Gent.  Shee  deceased  y«  llth  of 
July.  A°.  1649.  aged  06." 

Diigdale  has  handed  do^n  the  following  verses  upon  her,  which 
were  originally  engraved  on  the  stone,  but  are  not  now  to  be  found, 
half  of  it  having  been  cut  away  to  make  room  for  an  inscription  tt 
RicV.arc  Watts,  who  died  in  1707. 

Witty  above  her  sexe,  but  that's  not  all ; 

Wise' to  salvation  was  good  Mistress  Hall. 

Something  of  Shakespeare  was  in  that,  but  thii 

Wholy  of  him  with  whom  she's  now  in  blisse. 


THE    LIFE    OF 

on  the  monument  of  our  great  dramatist  a  ay,  from  ite  form 
and  punctuation,  appear  not  so  decisive  as  those  we  have 
quoted  in  English,  mere  is  in  fact  no  ground  for  disputing 
that  he  died  on  23d  April,  1616.  It  is  quite  certain  from 
the  register  of  Stratford  that  he  was  interred  on  the  25th 
April,  and  the  record  of  that  event  is  placed  among  the 
burials  in  the  following  manner  : 

"  1616.  April  25,  Will'  Shakspere,  Gent." 

Whether  from  the  frequent  prevalence  of  infectious  dis- 
orders, or  from  any  other  cause,  the  custom  of  keeping  the 
bodies  of  relatives  unburied,  for  a  week  or  more  after  death, 
seems  comparatively  of  modern  origin ;  and  we  may  illus- 
trate this  point  also  bv  reference  to  facts  regarding  some  of 
the  members  of  the  "Shakespeare  family.  Anne  Shake- 
speare was  buried  two  days  after  she  died,  viz.  on  the  8th 
Aug.,  16231 :  Dr.  Hall  and  Thomas  Nash  were  buried  on  the 
day  after  they  died2 ;  and  although  it  is  true  that  there  was 
an  interval  of  five  days  between  the  death  and  burial  of 
Mrs.  Hall,  in  1649,  it  is  very  possible  that  her  corpse  was 
conveyed  from  some  distance,  to  be  interred  among  her  re 
lations  at  Stratford3.  Nothing  would  be  easier  than  to  ac- 
cumulate instances  to  prove  that  in  the  time  of  Shakespeare., 
as  well  as  before  and  afterwards,  the  custom  was  to  bury 
persons  very  shortly  subsequent  to  their  decease.  In  the 
case  of  our  poet,  concluding  that  he  expired  on  the  23d 
April,  there  was,  as  in  the  instance  of  his  wife,  an  interval 
of  two  days  before  his  interment 

Into  the  particular  provisions  of  his  will  we  need  not  en- 
ter at  all  at  large,  because  we  have  printed  it  at  the  end  of 
the  present  memoir  from  the  original,  as  it  was  filed  in  the 
Prerogative  Court4,  probate  having  been  granted  on  the  22d 

Then,  passenger,  hast  ne're  a  teare 

To  weepe  with  her  that  wept  for  all  ? 
That  -wept,  yet  set  her  selfe  to  cheere 

Them  up  with  comforts  cordiall. 
Her  love  shall  live,  her  meicy  spread, 
When  thou  hast  ne're  a  teare  to  shed." 
Th«  register  informs  us  that  she  was  buried  on  the  16th  July,  1C49. 

•  The  folio-wing  is  copied  from  the  register  . — 

"  1623,  August  8.     Mrs.  Shakspeare." 
»  Their  registrations  of  burial  are  in  these  terms  : — 

"  1635.  Nov.  26.  Johannes  Hall,  medicus  peritissimus." 
"1647.  AprillS.  Thomas  Nash,  Gent." 
1  The  register  contains  as  follows  :— 

"1649.  July  16.  Mrs.  Susanna  Hall,  widow." 

•  We  are  indebted  to  Sir  F.  Madden,  Keeper  of  the  MSS.  in    the 
British  Museum,  for  the  use  of  a  most  exact  collation  of  Shakespeare* 
will ;  in  addition  to  which  we  have  seveial  times  gone  over  every 
.»ne  and  word  of  it.    We  have  printed  it  as  nearly  as  possible  as  it 
appears  in  the  original. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CXC1X 

June  following  the  date  of  it.  His  daughter  Judith  is  there 
only  called  by  her  Christian  name,  although  she  had  been 
married  to  Thomas  Quiney  considerably  more  than  a  mouth 
anterior  to  the  actual  date  of  the  will,  and  although  his  eld- 
est daughter  Susanna  is  mentioned  by  her  husband's  patro- 
nymic. It  seems  evident,  from  the  tenor  of  the  whole  in- 
strument, that  when  it  was  prepared  Judith  was  not  mar- 
ried1, although  her  speedy  union  with  Thomas  Quiuey  was 
contemplated :  the  attorney  or  scrivener,  who  drew  it,  had 
first  written  "  son  and  daughter,"  (meaning  Judith  and  her 
intended  husband)  but  erased  the  words  "  son  and"  after- 
wards, as  the  parties  were  not  yet  married,  and  were  not 
"  son  and  daughter"  to  the  testator.  It  is  true  that  Thomas 
Quiney  would  not  have  been  Shakespeare's  son,  only  his 
son-in-law ;  but  the  degrees  of  consanguinity  were  not  at 
that  time  strictly  marked  and  attended  to,  and  in  the  same 
will  Elizabeth  Hall  is  called  the  testator's  "  niece,"  when 
she  was,  in  fact,  his  granddaughter. 

The  bequest  whicli  has  attracted  most  attention  is  an  in- 
terlineation in  the  following  words,  "  Itm  A  gyve  unto  my 
wief  my  second  best  bed  with  the  furniture."  Upon  this 
passage  has  been  founded,  by  Malone  and  others,  a  charge 
against  Shakespeare,  that  he  only  remembered  his  wife  as 
an  afterthought,  aud  then  merely  gave  her  "an  old  bed." 
As  to  the  hist  part  of  the  accusatiou,  it  may  be  answered, 
that  the  "  second  best  bed"  was  probably  that  in  which  the 
husband  and  wife  had  slept,  when  he  was  in  Stratford  ear- 
lier in  life,  and  every  night  since  his  retirement  from  the 
metropolis :  the  best  bed  was  doubtless  reserved  for  visitors : 
if,  therefore,  he  were  to  leave  his  wife  any  express  legacy 
of  the  kind,  it  was  most  natural  and  considerate  that  he 
should  give  her  that  piece  of  furniture,  which  for  many  years 
they  had  jointly  occupied.  With  regard  to  the  second  part 
of  the  charge,  our  great  dramatist  has  of  late  years  been  re- 
lieved from  the  stigma,  thus  attempted  to  be  thrown  upon 
him,  by  the  mere  remark,  that  Shakespeare's  property  be- 
ing principally  freehold,  the  widow  by  the  ordinary  opera- 
tion of  the  law  of  England  would  be  entitled  to,  what  is  le- 
gally known  by  the  term,  dower.*  It  is  extraordinary  that 

1  Another  trifling  circumstance  leading  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
•will  was  prepared  in  January,  though  not  executed  until  JNlarch.  is 
that  Shakespeare's  sister  is  called  Jone  Hart,  and  not  Jone  Hart,  widow. 
Her  husband  had  died  a  few  days  before  Shakespeare,  and  he  was 
buried  on  17  April,  1010.  as  "Will  Hart,  hatter.'f  She  was  buried 
on  4  Nov.  1646.  Both  entries  are  contained  in  the  parish  registers  of 
Stratford. 

8  This  vindication  of  Shakespeare's  memory  from  the  supposed  ne- 
glect o'  his  wife  we  owe  to  Mr.  Knight,  in  his  "  Pictorial  Shak- 
•pere."  See  the  Postscript  to  •'  Twelfth  .Night."  When  ths  expla 


CO  THE    LIFE    OF 

this  explanation  should  never  have  occurre  i  to  Malone.  who 
was  educated  to  the  legal  profession ;  but  that  many  others 
should  have  followed  him  in  his  unjust  imputation  is  not 
remarkable,  recollecting  how  prone  most  of  Shakespeare's 
biographers  have  been  to  repeat  errors,  rather  than  take  the 
trouble  to  inquire  for  themselves,  to  sift  out  truth,  and  to 
balance  probabilities. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

Monument  to  Shakespeare  at  Stratford-upon-Avon  erected 
before  1623;  probably  under  the  superintendence  of  Dr. 
Hall,  and  Shakespeare's  daughter  busanna.  Difference 
between  the  bust  on  the  monument  and  the  portrait  on  the 
title-page  of  the  folio  of  1623.  Ben  Jonson's  testimony  in 
favour  of  the  likeness  of  the  latter.  Shakespeare's  personal 
appearance.  His  social  and  convivial  qualities.  "  Wit- 
combats"  mentioned  by  Fuller  in  his  "  Worthies."  Epi- 
taphs upon  Sir  Thomas  Stanley  and  Elias  James.  Con- 
clusion. Hallam's  character  of  Shakespeare. 

A  MONUMENT  to  Shakespeare  was  erected  anterior  to  the 
publication  of  the  folio  edition  of  his  "  Comedies,  Histories, 
and  Tragedies  "  in  1623,  because  it  is  thus  distinctly  men- 
tioned by  Leonard  Digges,  in  the  earliest  copy  of  commen- 
datory verses  prefixed  to  that  volume,  which  he  states  shall 
outlive  the  poet's  tomb : — 

"  when  that  stone  is  rent, 

And  time  dissolves  thy  Stratford  Monument, 
Here  we  alive  shall  view  thee  still." 

This  is  the  most  ancient  notice  of  it ;  but  how  long  before 
1623  it  had  been  placed  in  the  church  of  Stratford-upon- 
Avon,  we  have  no  means  of  deciding.  It  represents  the 
poet  sitting  under  an  arch,  with  a  cushion  before  him,  a  pen 
in  his  right  hand,  and  his  left  resting  upon  a  sheet  of  paper: 
it  has  been  the  opinion  of  the  best  judges  that  it  was  cut  by 
nn  English  sculptor,  (perhaps  Thomas  Stanton)  and  we  may 
conclude,  without  much  hesitation,  that  the  artist  was  em- 
ployed by  Dr.  Hall  and  his  wife,  and  that  the  resemblance 
was  as  faithful  as  a  bust,  not  modelled  from  the  life,  but 
probably,  under  living  instructions,  from  some  picture  or 
cast,  could  be  expected  to  be.  Shakespeare  is  there  con- 
siderably fuller  in  the  face,  than  in  the  engraving  on  the 

nation  is  once  given,  it  seems  so  easy,  that  we  wonder  it  was  nevei 
before  mentioned  ;  but  like  many  discoveries  of  different  kinds,  it  it 
not  less  simple  than  important,  and  it  is  just  that  Mr.  Knight  should 
have  fullcredU  for  it. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CCi 

title-page  of  the  folio  of  1623,  which  must  have  been  made 
from  a  different  original.  It  seems  not  unlikely  that  after 
he  separated  himself  from  the  business  and  anxiety  of  a 
professional  life,  and  withdrew  to  the  permanent  inhaling 
of  his  native  air,  he  became  more  robust,  and  the  half- 
length  upon  his  monument  conveys  the  notion  of  a  cheerful, 
good-tempered,  and  somewhat  jovial  man.  The  expression, 
•we  apprehend,  is  less  intellectual  than  it  must  have  been  in 
reality,  and  the  forehead,  though  lofty  and  expansive,  is  not 
strongly  marked  with  thought :  on  the  whole,  it  has  rather 
a  look  of  gaiety  and  good  humour  than  of  thought  and  re- 
flection, and  the  lips  are  full,  and  apparently  in  the  act  of 
giving  utterance  to  some  amiable  pleasantry. 

On  a  tablet  below  the  bust  are  placed  the  following 
inscriptions,  which  we  give  literally : — 

"  Ivdicio  Pylivm,  genio  Socratetn,  arte  Maronem, 

Terra  tegit,  popvlvs  mteret,  Olympvs  habet. 
Stay.  Passenger,  why  goest  thov  by  so  fust '( 
Head,  if  thov  canst,  whom  enviovs  Death  hath  plast 
Within  this  monvment:  Shakspeare;  with  whome 
Quick  natvre  dide :  whose  name  doth  deck  y*  Tombe 
Far  more  then  cost ;  sieth  all  y1  he  hath  writt 
Leaves  living  art  bvt  page  to  serve  his  witt 
Obiit  ano  Do'.  1616. 
^Etatis.  53.  die  23  Apr." 

On  a  flat  grave  stone  in  front  of  the  monument,  and  not 
far  from  the  wall  against  which  it  is  fixed,  we  read  these 
lines ;  and  Southwell's  correspondent  (whose  letter  was 
printed  in  1838,  from  the  original  manuscript  dated  1693) 
informs  us,  speaking  of  course  from  tradition,  that  they 
were  written  by  Shakespeare  himself: — 

"  Good  frend,  for  lesvs  sake  forbeare 
To  digg  the  dvst  encloaaed  heare : 
Blest  be  y«  man  y'  spares  thes  stones, 
And  cvrst  be  he  y1  moves  my  bones." 
The  half-length  on  the  title-page  of  the  folio  of  1623, 
engraved  by  Martin  Droeshout,  has  certainly  an  expression 
of  greater  gravity  than  the  bust  on  Shakespeare's  monu- 
ment ;  and,  making  some  allowances,  we  can  conceive  the 
original  of  that  resemblance  more  capable  of  producing  the 
mighty  works  Shakespeare  has  left  behind  him,  than  the 
original  of  the  bust :  at  all  events,  the  first  rather  looks  like 
the  author  of  "  Lear  "  and  "  Macbeth,"  and  the  last  like  the 
author  of  "  Much  Ado  about  Nothing"  and  "  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor:"  the  one  may  be  said  to  represent 
Shakespeare  d  iriug  his  later  years  at  Stratford,  happy  in 
the  intercourse  of  his  family  and  friends,  and  the  cheerful 
companion  of  his  neighbours  and  townsmen ;  and  the  other, 

VOL.    I.  14 


COii  THE    LIFE    OF 

Shakespeare  in  London,  revolving  the  great  works  h«.  had 
written  or  projected,  and  with  his  mind  somewhat  burdened 
by  the  cares  of  his  professional  life.  The  last,  therefore, 
is  obviously  the  likeness  which  ought  to  accompany  his 
plavs,  and  which  his  "  friends  and  fellows,"  Hemiuge  and 
Condell,  preferred  to  the  head  upon  the  "  Stratford  Monu- 
ment," of  the  erection  of  which  they  must  have  been  aware. 
There  is  one  point  in  which  both  the  engraving  and  the 
bust  in  a  degree  concur,  —  we  mean  in  the  length  of  the 
upper  lip,  although  the  peculiarity  seems  exaggerated  in  the 
bust.  We  have  no  such  testimony  in  favour  of  the  truth 
of  the  resemblance  of  the  bust1  as  the  engraving,  opposite 
to  which  are  the  following  lines,  subscribed  with  the  initials 
of  Ben  Jonson,  and  doubtless  from  his  pen.  Let  the  reader 
bear  in  mind  that  Ben  Jonson  was  not  a  man  who  could  be 
hired  to  commend,  and  that,  taking  it  for  granted  he  was 
sincere  in  his  praise,  he  had  the  most  unquestionable  means 
of  forming  a  judgment  upon  the  subject  of  the  likeness  be- 
tween the  living  man  and  the  dead  representation^  We 
onson's  testimonial  exactly  as  it  stands  in  the 


give  Ben  Jo 

folio  of  1623  for  it  afterwards  went  through  various  literal 

changes. 

"To  THE  KEADEB. 

"  This  Figure,  that  thou  here  seest  put, 
It  was  for  gentle  Shakespeare  cut; 
Wherein  the  Grauer  had  a  strife 
With  Nature,  to  out-doo  the  life  : 
O,  could  lie  but  haue  drawne  his  wit 
As  well  in  brasse,  as  he  hath  hit 
His  face  ;  the  Print  would  then  surpasse 
All,  that  was  euer  writ  in  brasse. 
But,  since  he  cannot,  Reader,  looke 
Not  on  his  Picture,  but  his  Booke. 
B.  I.' 

1  It  was  originally,  like  many  other  monuments  of  the  time,  and 
some  in  Stratford  church,  coloured  after  the  life,  and  so  it  continued 
until  Malone,  in  his  mistaken  zeal  for  classical  taste  and  severity, 
and  forgetting  the  practice  of  the  period  at  which  the  work  was  pro- 
duced, had  it  painted  one  uniform  stone-colour.  He  thus  exposed 
himself  to  much  not  unmerited  ridicule.  It  was  afterwards  found 
impossible  to  restore  the  original  colours. 

a  Besides,  we  may  suppose  that  Jonson  would  be  careful  how  ha 
applauded  the  likeness,  when  there  must  have  been  so  many  persons 
living,  who  could  have  contradicted  him,  had  the  praise  not  been 
deserved.  Jonson  does  not  speak  of  the  painter,  but  of  the  "  graver,!i 
who  we  are  inclined  to  think  did  full  justice  to  the  picture  placed  in 
his  hands  Droeshout  was  a  man  of  considerable  eminence  in  his 
branch  of  art,  and  has  left  behind  him  undoubted  proofs  of  his  skill 
—  ^jome  of  them  so  much  superior  to  the  head  of  Shakespeare  in  th« 
totio  of  1623.  as  to  lead  to  the  conviction,  that  the  picture  from  whicb 
he  worked  was  a  very  coarse  specimen  oi  art. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CCUI 

With  this  evidence  before  us,  we  have  not  Hesitated  in 
having  an  exact  copy  of  Droeshout's  engraving  executed 
for  the  present  edition  of  the  Works  of  Shakespeare.  It  is, 
we  believe,  the  first  time  it  has  ever  been  selected  for  the 
purpose  since  the  appearance  of  the  folio  of  1623;  and, 
although  it  may  not  be  recommended  by  the  appearance 
of  so  high  a  style  of  art  as  some  other  imputed  resem- 
blances, there  is  certainly  not  one  which  has  such  un- 
doubted claims  to  our  notice  on  the  grounds  of  fidelity  and 
authenticity. 

The  fact  that  Droeshout  was  required  to  employ  his  skill 
upon  a  bad  picture  may  tend  to  confirm  our  reliance  upon 
the  likeness :  had  there  been  so  many  pictures  of  Shake- 
speare as  some  have  contended,  but  as  we  are  far  from 
believing,  Hemiuge  and  Condell,  when  they  were  seeking 
for  an  appropriate  ornament  for  the  title-page  of  their  folio, 
would  hardly  have  chosen  one  which  was  an  unskilful  paint- 
ing, if  it  had  not  been  a  striking  resemblance.  If  only  half 
the  pictures  said,  within  the  last  century,  to  represent 
Shakespeare,  were  in  fact  from  the  life,  the  poet  must  have 
possessed  a  vast  stock  of  patience,  if  not  a  larger  share  of 
vanity,  when  he  devoted  so  much  time  to  sitting  to  the 
artists  of  the  day ;  and  the  player-editors  could  have  found 
•no  difficulty  iu  procuring  a  picture,  which  had  better  pre- 
tensions to  their  approval  To  us,  therefore,  the  very  de- 
fects of  the  engraving,  which  accompanies  the  folio  of  1623, 
are  a  recommendation,  since  they  serve  to  show  that  it  waa 
both  genuine  and  faithful. 

Aubrey  is  the  only  authority,  beyond  the  inferences  that 
may  be  drawn  from  the  portraits,  for  the  personal  appear- 
ance of  Shakespeare ;  and  he  sums  up  our  great  poet's  phy- 
sical and  moral  endowments  in  two  lines ; — "  He  was  a 
handsome  well-shaped  man,  very  good  company,  and  of  a 
very  ready,  and  pleasant,  and  smooth  wit."  We  have  every 
reason  to  suppose  that  this  is  a  correct  description  of  his 
personal  appearance,  but  we  are  unable  to  add  to  it  from 
any  other  source,  unless  indeed  we  were  to  rely  upon  a  few 
in  the  "  Sonnets."  Upon  this  authority 


it  has  been  supposed  by  some  that  he  was  lame,  and  cer- 
tainly the  37th  and  89th  Sonnets,  without  allowing  for  a 
figurative  mode  of  expression,  might  be  taken  to  import  as 
much.  If  we  were  to  consider  the  words  literally,  we 
Bhould  imagine  that  some  accident  had  befallen  him,  which 
rendered  it  impossible  that  he  should  continue  on  the  stage, 
and  hence  we  could  easily  account  for  his  early  retirement 
from  it.  We  know  that  such  was  the  case  with  one  of  his 
most  famous  predecessors,  Christopher  Marlowe1,  but  we 
1  See  the  extract  from  a  ballad  on  Marlowe  (p.  Ixxxix.).  Tms  cir- 


OOIV  THE    LIFE    OF 

have  no  sufficient  reason  for  believing  it  was  the  fact  as  re- 
gards Shakespeare:  he  is  evidently  speaking  metaphori 
cally  in  both  places,  where  "  lame "  and  "  lameness " 
occur. 

His  social  qualities,  his  good  temper,  hilarity,  vivacity, 
and  what  Aubrey  calls  his  "  very  ready,  and  pleasant,  and 
smooth  wit,"  (in  our  author's  own  words,  "  pleasant  without 
scurrility,  witty  without  affectation,")  cannot  be  doubted, 
since,  besides  what  may  be  gathered  from  his  works,  wo 
have  it  from  various  quarters ;  and  although  nothing  very 
good  of  this  kind  may  have  descended  to  us,  we  have  suffi- 
cient to  show  that  he  must  have  been  a  most  welcome 
visitor  in  all  companies.  The  epithet  "  gentle  "  has  been 
frequently  applied  to  him,  twice  by  Ben  Jonson,  (in  his 
lines  before  the  engraving,  and  in  his  laudatory  verses  pre- 
fixed to  the  plays  in  the  folio  of  1623)  and  if  it  be  not  to  be 
understood  precisely  in  its  modem  acceptation,  we  may  be 
sure  that  one  distinguishing  feature  in  his  character  was  gen- 
eral kindliness :  he  may  have  been  "  sharp  and  sententious," 
but  never  needlessly  bitter  or  ill-natured :  his  wit  had  no 
malice  for  an  ingredient  Fuller  speaks  of  the  "  wit-combats  " 
between  Shakespeare  and  Ben  Jonson  at  the  convivial 
meetings  at  the  Mermaid  club,  established  by  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh1 ;  and  he  adds,  "  which  two  I  behold  like  a  Spanish 
great  galleon  and  an  English  man-gf-war :  Master  Jonson, 
like  the  former,  was  built  far  higher  in  learning ;  -solid,  but 
slow  in  his  performances :  Shakespeare,  with  the  English 
man-of-war,  lesser  in  bulk,  but  lighter  in  sailing,  could  turn 
with  all  tides,  tack  about,  and  take  advantage  of  all  winds 
by  the  quickness  of  his  wit  and  invention5."  The  simile  is 
well  chosen,  and  it  came  from  a  writer  who  seldom  said 

cumstance,  had  he  known  it,  would  materially  have  aided  the  mo- 
dern sceptick,  who  argued  that  Shakespeare  and  Marlowe  were  one 
and  the  same. 

1  Gifford  (Ben  Jonson's  Works,  vol.  I.  p.  Ixv.)  fixes  the  date  of  the 
Mtablishment  of  this  club,  at  the  Mermaid  in  Friday  Street,  about 
1603,  and  he  adds  that  "  here  for  many  years  Ben  Jonson  repaired 
with  Shakespeare,  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  Selden,  Cotton,  Carew,  Mar- 
tin, Donne,  and  many  others,  whose  names,  even  at  this  distant 
period,  call  up  a  mingled  feeling  of  reverence  and  respect."  Of  what 
passed  at  these  many  assemblies  Beaumont  thus  speaks,  addressing 
Ben  Jonson  :— 

"What  things  have  we  seen 

Done  at  the  Mermaid  !  heard  words  that  have  been 
So  nimble,  and  so  full  of  subtle  flame, 
As  if  that  every  one  from  whom  they  came 
Had  meant  to  put  his  whole  wit  in  a  jest.'- 

The  Mitre,  in  Fleet  Street,  seems  to  have  been  another  tavern  whew 
ihe  wits  and  poets  of  the  day  hilariously  assembled. 
»  Worthies.    Part  iii.  p.  126,  folio  edit. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CCV 

anything  ill'.  Connected  with  Ben  Jonsou's  solidity  and 
slowness  is  a  witticism  between  him  and  Shakespeare,  said 
to  have  passed  at  a  tavern.  One  of  the  Ashmolean  manu- 
scripts (No.  38)  contains  the  following  :  — 

"  Mr.  Ben    Johnson  and  Mr.   Win.   Shakespeare    being 
ruerrie  at  a  tavern,  Mr.  Jouson  begins  this  for  his  epitaph, 
Here  lies  Ben  Jonson 
Who  was  once  one  : 

he  gives  it  to  Mr.  Shakespeare  to  make  up,  who  presently 
writt 

That,  while  he  liv'd,  was  a  slow  thing, 
And  now,  being  dead,  is  wo-thmg." 

It  is  certainly  not  of  much  value,  but  there  is  a  great 
difference  between  the  estimate  of  an  extempore  joke 
at  the  moment  of  delivery,  and  the  opinion  we  may 
form  of  it  long  afterwards,  when  it  has  been  ,put  upon 
paper,  and  transmitted  to  posterity  under  such  names 
as  those  of  Shakespeai-e  and  Jonson.  The  same  ex- 
cuse, if  required,  may  be  made  for  two  other  pieces  of 
unpretending  pleasantry  between  the  same  parties,  which 
we  subjoin  in  a  note,  because  they  relate  to  such  men, 
and  have  been  handed  down  to  us  upon  something  like 
authority^. 

1  Fuller  has  another  simile,  on  the  same  page,  respecting  Shake- 

one  is  not  made,  but  born  a  poet.  Indeed  his  learning  was  very  little, 
so  that  as  Cornish  diamonds  are  not  polished  by  any  lapidary,  but  are 
pointed  and  smooth  even  as  they  are  taken  out  of  the  earth,  so  nature 
itself  was  all  the  art  which  was  used  upon  him."  Of  course  Fuller 
is  here  only  referring  to  Shakespeare's  classical  acquirements:  his 
11  learning"  of  a  different  kind,  perhaps,  exceeded  that  of  all  the 

2  "  Shakespeare  was  god-father  to  one  of  Ben  Jonson's  children, 
and  after  the  christening,  being  in  a  deepe  study,  Jonson  came  to 
cheere  him  up,  and  askt  him  why  he  was    so  melancholy?  —  'No, 
faith,  Ben,  (sayes  he)  not  I  ;  but  I  have  been  considering  a  great 
while  what  should  be  the  fittest  gift  for  me  to  bestow  upon  my  god- 
child,  and  1  have  resolv'd   at  last.'  —  'I   pr'ythee   what?'   says  he. 
4  I  'faith,  Ben,  I'll  e'en   give  him  a  douzen  of  Latten  spoones,   and 
thou  shall  translate  them.'  " 

Of  course  the  joke  depends  upon  the  pun  between  Latin,  and  the 
mixed  metal  called  lat.ten.  The  above  is  from  a  MS.  of  Sir  R. 
L'Estrange,  who  quotes  the  authority  of  Dr.  Donne.  It  is  inserted  in 
Mr.  Thoms's  amusing  volume,  printed  for  the  Camden  Society, 
under  the  title  of  "Anecdotes  and  Traditions."  p.  2.  The  next] 
from  a  MS.  called  "  Poetical  Characteristics,"  formerly  in  the  Har- 
leian  Collection  :— 


li  Verses  by  Ben  Jonson  and  Shakespeare,  occasioned  by  the  motto 
the  Globe  theatre  —  Totus  mundus  ngit  liistrimiem. 

"  Jonson.    If  but  stage-actors  all  the  world  displays, 

Where  shall  we  find  spectators  of  their  plays  T 
Shakespeare.     Little,  or  much  of  what  we  see,  we  dc  ; 
We  are  both  actors  and  spectators  too." 


CCV1  THE    LIFE    OF 

Of  a  different  character  is  a  production  prejerved  by 
Dugdale,  at  the  end  of  his  Visitation  of  Salop,  in  the 
Heralds'  College :  it  is  an  epitaph  inscribed  upon  the  tomb 
of  Sir  Thomas  Stanley,  in  Tongue  church ;  and  Dugdale, 
whose  testimony  is  unimpeachable,  distinctly  states  that 
"  the  following  verses  were  made  by  William  Shakespeare, 
the  late  famous  tragedian." 

"  Written  upon  the  east  end  of  the  tomb. 

"  Ask  who  lies  here,  but  do  not  weep ; 
He  is  not  dead,  he  doth  but  sleep. 
This  stony  register  is  for  his  bones  ; 
His  fame  is  more  perpetual  than  these  stones  : 
And  his  own  goodness,  with  himself  being  gone, 
Shall  live  when  earthly  monument  is  none. 

"  Written  on  the  west  end  thereof. 
"Not  monumental  stone  preserves  our  fame, 
Nor  sky-aspiring  pyramids  our  namo. 
The  memory  of  him  for  whom  this  stands 
Shall  out-live  marble  and  defiicers'  hands. 
When  all  to  time's  consumption  shall  be  given, 
Stanley,  for  whom  this  stands,  shall  stand  in  heaven." 

With  Malone  and  others,  -who  have  quoted  them,  we 
feel  satisfied  of  the  authenticity  of  these  verses,  though  we 
may  not  perhaps  think,  as  he  did,  that  the  last  line  bears 
euch  "  strong  marks  of  the  hand  of  Shakespeare1."  The 
coincidence  between  the  line 

"  Nor  sky-aspiring  pyramids  our  name," 

and  the  passage  in  Milton's  Epitaph   upon  Shakespeare, 
prefixed  to  the  folio  of  1632, 

"  Or  that  his  hallow'd  relics  should  be  hid 
Under  a  star-ypointing  pyramid," 

seems,  as  far  as  we  recollect,  to  have  escaped  notice. 

We  have  thus  brought  into  a  consecutive  narrative  (with 
as  little  interruption  of  its  thread  as,  under  the  circum- 
stances, and  with  such  disjointed  materials,  seemed  to  us 

1  The  following  reaches  us  in  a  more  questionable  shape  :  it  in 
from  a. MS.  of  the  time  of  Charles  I.,  preserved  in  the  Bodleian  Li- 
brary, -which  contains  also  poems  by  Herrick  and  others. 

"AN  EPITAPH. 

"When  God  was  pleas'd,  the  world  unwilling  yet, 
Elias  James  to  nature  paid  his  debt, 
And  here  reposeth.     As  he  lived  he  died, 
The  saying  in  him  strongly  verified. 
Such  life,  such  death  :  then,  the  known  truth  to  tell, 
He  liv'd  a  godly  life,  and  died  as  well. 

\Vm.  Shakespeare." 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.  CCV11 

jx>ssihle)  the  particulars  respecting  the  life  of  the  "  myriad- 
minded  Shakespeare',"  with  which  our  predecessor  were 
acquainted,  or  which,  from  various  sources,  we  have  been 
able,  during  a  long  series  of  years,  to  collect.  Yet,  after  all. 
comparing  what  we  really  know  of  our  great  dramatist 
with  what  we  might  possibly  have  known,  we  cannot  but  be 
aware  how  little  has  been  accomplished.  "Of  William 
Shakespeare,"  says  one  of  our  greatest  living  authors  of 
our  greatest  dead  one,  "whom,  through  the  mouths  of 
those  whom  he  has  inspired  to  body  forth  the  modifications 
of  his  immense  mind,  we  seem  to  know  better  than  any 
human  writer,  it  may  be  truly  said  that  we  scarcely  know 
anything.  We  see  him,  so  far  as  we  do  see  him,  not  in 
himself,  but  in  a  reflex  image  from  the  objectivity  in  which 
he  is  manifested :  he  is  Falstaff,  and  Mercutio,  and  Mal- 
volio,  and  Jaques,  and  Portia,  and  Imogen,  and  Lear,  and 
Othello  ;  but  to  us  he  is  scarcely  a  determined  person,  a  sub- 
stantial reality  of  past  time,  the  man  Shakespeare2."  We 
cannot  flatter  ourselves  that  we  have  done  much  to  bring  the 
reader  better  acquainted  with  "  the  man  Shakespeare," 
but  if  we  have  done  anything  we  shall  be  content;  and,  in- 
stead of  attempting  any  character  of  our  own,  we  will  subjoin 
one,  in  the  words  of  the  distinguished  writer  we  have  above 
quoted3,  as  brief  in  its  form  as  it  is  comprehensive  in  its  mat- 
ter : — "  The  name  of  Shakespeare  is  the  greatest  in  our 
literature, — it  is  the  greatest  in  all  literature.  No  man  ever 
came  near  to  him  in  the  creative  powers  of  the  mind ;  no 
man  had  ever  such  streugth  at  onee,  and  such  variety  of 
imagination." 

If  the  details  of  his  life  be  imperfect,  the  history  of  hia 
mind  is  complete ;  and  we  leave  the  reader  to  turn  from  the 
contemplation  of  "  the  man  Shakespeare"  to  the  study  of 
THE  POET  SHAKESPEARE. 

i  Coleridge's  Table  Talk,  vol.  ii.  p.  301.— Mr.  Hallam  in  his  "  In- 
troduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe,"  vol.  iii.  p.  b9.  edit.  1843, 
iomewhat  less  literally  translates  the  Greek  epithet,  pvptovovf, 
u  thousand-souled." 

»  Hallam's  ll  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe,"  vol.  ii.  p.  175 

*  Ibid.  vol.  iii.  p.  89 


SHAKESPEARE'S    WILL. 


Vicesima  Quinto  Die  Martij*  Anno  Regni  Domin! 
nostri  Jacobi  nunc  Rex  Anglie  <tc.  Decimo  quarto 
&  Scotie  xlix°  Annoq;  Domini  1616. 

T.  WmJ  Shackspeare 

In  the  name  of  god  Amen  I  William  Shackspeare 
of  Stratford  vpon  Avon  in  the  countie  of  warr  gent  iu  per- 
fect health  <fe  memorie  god  be  praysed  doe  make  <t  Ordayne 
this  my  last  will  &  testament  in  manner  <fe  forme  followeing 
That  ys  to  saye  First  I  Comend  my  Soule  into  the  handes 
of  god  my  Creator  hoping  &  assuredlie  beleeving  through 
thonelie  meiites  of  Jesus  Christe  my  Saviour  to  be  made 
partaker  of  lyfe  everlastinge  And  my  bodye  to  the  Earth 
•whereof  yt  ys  made  Item  I  Gyve  &  bequeath  vnto  my 
Daughter8  Judyth  One  hundred  tfc  Fyftie  poundes  of  law- 
full  English  money  to  be  paied  vnto  her  in  manner  <fe  forme 
followeing  That  ys  to  saye  One  hundred  pounds  in  discharge 
of  her  marriage  porcion*  within  one  yeare  after  my  deceas 
with  consideracion  after  the  Rate  of  twoe  Shilliuges  in  the 
pound  for  soe  long  tyme  as  the  same  shalbe  vnpaied  vnto 
her  after  my  deceas  &  the  Fyftie  poundes  Residewe  thereof 
vpon  her  Surrendring  of*  or  gyving  of  such  sufficient  Secu- 
ntie  as  the  overseers  of  this  my  Will  shall  like  of  to  Sur- 
render or  graunte  All  her  estate  &  Right  that  shall  disceud 
or  come  vnto  her  after  my  deceas  or  that  shee8  nowe  hath 
of  in  or  to  one  Copiehold  tenemente  with  thappurtenancea 
lyeing  <fe  being  in  Stratford  vpon  Avon  aforesaied  in  the 
saied  countie  of  warr  being  parcell  or  holden  of  the  man- 
nour  of  Rowiugton  vuto  my  Daughter  Susanna  Hall  <fe  her 
heires  foi  ever  Item  I  Gyve  &  bequeath  vnto  my  saied 
Daughter  Judith  One  hundred  and  Fyftie  Pouudes  more  if 
ehee  or  Anie  issue  of  her  bodie  be  Lyvinge  att  thend  of 

1  The  following  is  from  an  exact  transcript  of  the  original  Will 
deposited  in  the  Prerogative  office,  London,  the  only  difference  being 
that  we  have  not  thought  it  necessary  to  give  the  legal  contractions 
of  the  scrivener :  in  all  other  respects,  even  to  the  misemployment 
of  capital  letters,  and  the  omission  of  points  our  copy  is  most  faithful. 

*  The  word  '•  Martij"  is  interlined  above  •'  Januaii:,::  which  ii 
ttruck  through  with  the  pen.  Malone  (Shaksp.  by  Boswell,  vol.  i. 
p.  601.)  states  that  the  word  struck  through  is  February,  but  this  it 
&  mistake. 


'  Before  "  Daughter"  sonne  and  was  originally  -written  but  struck 

rough  with  the  pen. 

4  The  words  "in  discharge  of  her  marrii 

•The  word -'of 'is  interlined. 

«  The  words  "  that  shee"  are  interlined. 


through  with  the  pen 
«  The  words  "in  discharge  of  her  marriage  porcion1'  are  interlined. 


SHAKESPEARE'S  WILL.  ccix 

three  yeares  next  ensueing  the  Daie  of  the  Date  (if  this  my 
Will  during  which  tyme  my  executours  to  paie  her  consid 
eracion  from  my  deceas  according  to  the  Rate  aforesaied 
And  if  she  dye  within  the  saied  terme  without  issue  of  her 
bodye  then  my  will  ys  &  I  Doe  gyve  &  bequeath  One  Hun- 
dred Poundes  thereof  to  my  Neece  Elizabeth  Hall  &  the 
Fiftie  Pouudes  to  be  sett  fourth  by  my  executours  during  the 
lief  of  my  Sister  Johane  Harte  &  the  vse  and  proffitt  there- 
of Comiuge  shalbe  payed  to  my  saied  Sister  lone  &  after 
her  deceas  the  saied  I1'  shall  Remaiue  Amongst  the  children 
of  my  saied  Sister  Equallie  to  be  Devided  Amongst  them 
But  if  my  saied  Daughter  Judith  be  lyviug  att  theud  of  the 
saied  three  Yeares  or  anie  ys,sue  of  her  bodye  then  my  will 
ys  &  soe  I  Devise  &  bequeath  the  saied  Hundred  and  Fyftie 
Pouudes  to  be  sett  out  by  my  executours  &  overseers'  for  the 
best  benefitt  of  her  &  her  issue  &  the  stock*  not  to  be3  paied 
vnto  her  soe  long  as  she  shalbe  marryed  &  Covert  Baron4 
but  my  will  ys  that  she  shall  have  the  cousideracion  yearlie 
paied  vnto  her  during  her  lief  &  after  her  deceas  the  saied 
stock  and  consideracion  to  bee  paied  to  her  children  if  she 
have  Anie  <fc  if  not  to  her  executours  or  assigues  she  lyviug 
the  saied  terme  after  my  deceas  Provided  that  if  such  hus- 
hond  as  she  shall  att  thend  of  the  saied  three  yeares  be  mar- 
ryed vnto  or  attaiue  after  doe  sufficientlie  Assure  vnto  her 
<fe  thissue  of  her  bodie  landes  Answereable  to  the  porcion 
by  this  my  will  gy  ven  vuto  her  &  to  be  adiudged  soe  by  my 
executours  &  overseers  then  my  will  ys  that  the  saied  Cl" 
shalbe  paied  to  such  husbond  as  shall  make  such  assurance 
to  his  owue  vse  Item  I  gyve  &  bequeath  vnto  my  saied  sis- 
ter lone  xx1'  &  all  my  wearing  Apparrell  to  be  paied  &  de- 
liuered  within  one  yeare  after  my  Deceas  And  I  doe  will 
&  devise  vnto  her  the  house5  with  thappurteuances  in  Strat- 
ford wherein  she  dwelleth  for  her  natural  lief  vuder  the 
yearlie  Rent  of  xiid  Item  I  gyve  <fe  bequeath6  vuto  her 
three  souns  William  Harte  Hart  &  Michaell  Harte 

Fyve  Poundes  A  peece  to  be  paied  within  one  Yeare  after 
my  deceas7  her  Item  I  gyve  &  bequeath  unto  the  saied 

»  The  words  "  by  my  executours  and  overseers"  are  interlined. 

*  The  words  '•  the  stock"  are  interlined. 
3  The  words  t:  to  be"  are  interlined. 

*  After  "  Baron"  the  words  "  by  my    executours  &  oversf  ers'1  are 
«'ised  with  the  pen. 

*  The  words  "  the  house"  are  interlined. 

»  The  first,  sheet  ends  with  the  word  "  bequeath,"  and  the  testator's 
ugnature  is  in  the  margin  opposite. 

'  After  "deceas"  follow  these  words,  struck  through  with  the  pen, 
•'  to  be  sett  out  for  her  within  one  yeare  after  my  deceas  by  my  execu- 
tours with  thadvise  and  direccions  of  my  overseers  for  her  best  profitt 
rntill  her  mariage  and  then  the  same  with  the  increase  thereof  to  be 
paied  vnto  :"  the  erasure  ought  also  to  have  included  the  word  "  he  ," 
which  follows  "vnto." 


OCX  SHAKESPEARE  S    WILL. 

Elizabeth  Hall1  All  my  Plate  (except  my  brod  silver  <fe  gilt 
bole")  that  I  now  have  att  the  Date  of  this  my  will  Item  I 
gyve  &  bequeath  vnto  the  Poore  of  Stratford  aforesaied  term 
poundes  to  Mr  Thomas  Combe  my  Sword  to  Thomas  Rus- 
sell Esquier  Fyve  poundes  <fe  to  Frauncis  Collins  of  the  Bo- 
rough of  warr  in  the  couutie  of  warr  gentleman  thirteene 
poundes  Sixe  shilliuges  «fe  Eight  pence  to  be  paied  within 
one  Yeare  after  my  Deceas  Item  I  gyve  &  bequeath  to 
Hamlett  Sadler3  xxvi"  viijd  to  buy  him  A  Ringe  to  William 
Raynoldes  gent  xxvj8  viij'1  to  buy  him  a  Riuge4  to  my  godson 
William  Walker  xx5  in  gold  to  Anthonye  Nashe  gent  xxvj« 
viijd  &  to  Mr  John  Nashe  xxvj9  viij'""  &  to  my  Fellowes  John 
Hemynges  Ricliard  Burbage  <fc  Henry  Cundell  xxvj8  viijd 
Apeece  to  buy  them  Ringes6  Item  I  Gyve  will  bequeath  <fe 
devise  vnto  my  Daughter  Susanna  Hall  for  better  enabling 
of  her  to  performe  this  my  will  &  towardes  the  performans 
thereof  All  that  Capitall  messuage  or  teuemente  with  thap- 
purtenances  in  Stratford  aforesaid8  Called  the  new  place 
wherein  I  nowe  Dwell  <fc  two  Messuages  or  tenementes  with 
thappurtenances  scituat  lyeiug  <fc  being  in  Henlev  streete 
within  the  borough  of  Stratford  aforesaied  And  all  my 
barnes  stables  Orchardes  gardens  landes  tenementes  <fc  here- 
ditamentes  whatsoeuer  scituat  lyeing  &  being  or  to  be  had 
Receyved  perceyved  or  taken  within  the  towues  Hamletes 
Villages  Fieldes  <fe  groundes  of  Stratford  vpon  Avon  Old- 
stratford  Bushopton  &  Welcombe  or  in  auie  of  them  in  the 
Baid  countie  of  warr  And  alsoe  All  that  messuage  or  tene- 
meute  with  thappurteuances  wherein  One  John  Robinson 
dwelleth  scituat  lyeiug  &  being  in  the  blackfriers  in  London 
nere  the  Wardrobe  <fe  all  other  my  landes  tenemeutes  A 
hereditameutes  whatsoeuer  To  have  &  to  hold  All  <fe  singu- 
ler  the  eaied  premisses  with  their  appurtenances  vnto  the 
saied  Susanna  Hall  for  &  during  the  terme  of  her  naturall 
lief  &  after  her  deceas  to  the  first  sonne  of  her  bodie  law- 
fullie  yssueing  &  to  the  heires  Males  of  the  bodie  of  the  saied 
first  Sonne  lawfullie  yssueing  <fe  for  defalt  of  such  issue  to 

»  The  words  "the  saied  Elizabeth  Hall"  are  interlined  above  her, 
Which  is  struck  through  with  the  pen. 

"  This  parenthesis  is  an  interlineation. 

s  "Hamlet  Sadler"  is  an  interlineation  above  Mr.  Richard  Tyler 
tktUrr,  which  is  erased. 

•  The  words  '•  to  William  Raynoldes  gentleman  xxvj'  vijj*  to  buy 
him  A  Ringe"  are  interlined. 

•  After  "  xxvj-  viij*"  in  gold  was  originally  written,  but  erased 
with  the  pen. 

«  The  words  ';  &  to  my  Fellowes  John  Hemynges  Richard  Bur- 
ttage  and  Henry  Cundell  xxvj'  viij<i  to  buy  them  Ringes"  are  inter- 

'Th»  words  "  for  better  enabling  of  her  to  performe  this  my  will 
c  towardes  the  perf:>nnans  thereof  are  interlined.' 

•  I  he  words   "  in  Stratfori  aforesaid"  are  interlined. 


SHAKESPEARE  S    WILL.  OCX? 

the  second  Sonne  of  her  bodie  lawfullie  isst  ;inge  &  to  the 
heires  males  of  the  bodie  of  the  saied  Second  Sonne  lawful- 
lie  yssueinge  and  for  defaltof  such  heires  to  the  third  Sonne 
of  the  bodie  of  the  saied  Susanna  Lawfullie  yssueing  &  of 
the  heires  males  of  the  bodie  of  the  saied  third  sonne  law- 
fullie yssueing  And  for  defalt  of  such  issue  the  same  soe  to 
be  &  Remaiue  to  the  Fourth1  Fyfth  sixte  &  Seaveuth  sonnes 
of  her  bodie  lawfullie  issueing  one  after  Another  it  to  the 
h sires*  Males  of  the  bodies  of  the  saied  Fourth  fifth  Sixte 
and  Seaveuth  sonnes  lawfullie  yssueing  in  such  manner  as 
yt  ys  before  Lymitted  to  be  tfc'Remaine  to  the  firet  second 
<t  third  Sonns  of  her  bodie  &  to  their  heires  Males  And  for 
defalt  of  such  issue  the  saied  premisses  to  be  (fe  Remaiue  to 
my  sayed  Neece  Hall  &  the  heires  Males  of  her  bodie  law- 
fullie yssueing  &  for  defalt  of  such  issue  to  my  Daughter 
Judith  &  the  heires  Males  of  her  body  lawfullie  issueinge 
And  for  defalt  of  such  issue  to  the  Right  heires  of 
me  the  saied  William  Shackspeare  for  ever  Item  I  gyve 
vnto  my  wief  my  second  best  bed  with  the  furniture3  Item 
I  gyve  &  bequeath  to  my  saied  Daughter  Judith  my  broad 
silver  gilt  bole  All  the  rest  of  my  goodes  Chattel  Leases 
plate  Jewels  &  household  stuffe  whatsoeuer  after  my  Dettes 
and  Legasies  paied  <fe  my  funerall  expences  discharged  I 
gyve  devise  and  bequeath  to  my  Sonne  in  Lawe  John  Hall 
gent  &  my  Daughter  Susanna  his  wief  whom  I  ordaine  & 
make  executours  of  this  my  Last  will  and  testament  And  I 
doe  intreat  it  Appoint  the  saied4  Thomas  Russell  Esquier  <fe 
Frauncis  Collins  gent  to  be  overseers  hereof  And  doe  Re- 
voke All  former  wills  &  publishethis  to  be  my  last  will  and 
testament  In  Witness  whereof  I  have  herevnto  put  my 
hand5  the  Daie  <fe  Yeare  first  aboue  written. 

"  By  me  William  Shakspeare. 
Witnes  to  the  publishing 

hereof  Fra :  Collyns  Probatum  cora  Magr.  Willim 

Julyus  Shawe  Byrde  Dcore  Comiss.  &c.  xx"10  die 

John  Robinson  mensis  Junij  Anno  Dni  1616 

Hamnet  Sadler  Juram'0  Johanuis  Hall  vnius 

Robert  Whattcott  ex  etc  Cui  <tc  De  bene  Ac  Jurat 

Resvat  ptate  Ac.  Susanne  Hall 
alt  ex  ic  cu  venit  <tc  petitur 
(Inv1  ex') 

1  After  "  Fourth"  the  word  sonne  was  first  written,  but  erased  with 
the  pen. 

i  The  second  sheet  ends  with  the  word  "heires,"  and  the  signa- 
ture of  the  testator  is  at  the  bottom  of  it 

s  The  words  '•  Item  I  gyve  vnto  my  wief  my  second  best  bed  with 
the  furniture"  are  interlined. 

*  The   words  '•  the  saied"  are  interlined. 

s  The  word  •'  hand"  is  interlined  above  fcalr,  v  nich  is  erased  with 
the  pen. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


"  The  Tempest "  was  first  printed  in  tie  folio  edition  of 
B  Mr.  William  Shakespeare's  Comedies,  Histories,  and  Trage- 
dies," bearing  date  in  1623,  where  it  stands  first,  and  occu 
pies  nineteen  pages,  viz.  from  p  1,  to  p.  19  inclusive.  1 
fills  the  same  place  in  the  foiios  of  1682,  1664,  and  1685. 


INTRODUCTION 


A  MATERIAL  fact,  in  reference  to  the  date  of  the  first  pro- 
duction of  "  The  Tempest,"  has  only  been  recently  ascer- 
tained :  we  allude  to  the  notice  of  the  performance  of  it,  before 
King  James,  on  Nov.  1st,  1611, i  which  is  contained  in  the 
"  Extracts  from  the  Accounts  of  the  Kevels  at  Court,"  edited 
by  Mr.  P.  Cunningham  for  the  Shakespeare  Society,  p.  211 : 
the  memorandum  is  in  the  following  form : 

"  Hallomas  nyght  was  presented  att  Whithall  before  the 

Kinges  Majestic  a  play  called  the  Tempest." 
In  the  margin  is  inserted  the  additional  circumstance,  that 
the  performance  was  "  by  the  King's  Players ;"  and  there  can 
be  no  reasonable  doubt  that  it  was  Shakespeare's  drama, 
which  had  been  written  for  that  company.  When  it  had  beeii 
so  written,  is  still  a  point  of  difficulty;  but  the  probability, 
we  think,  is  that  it  was  selected  by  the  Master  of  the  Kevels, 
for  Representation  at  Court  in  1611,  on  account  of  its  novelty 
and  popularity  on  the  public  stage.  Eleven  other  dramas, 
as  appears  by  the  same  document,  were  exhibited  between 
Oct.  31,  1611,  and  the  same  day  in  the  next  year;  and  it  is 
remarkable  that  ten  of  these  (as  far  as  we  possess  any  infor- 
mation respecting  them)  were  comparatively  new  plays,  and 
with  regard  to  the  eleventh,  it  was  not  more  than  three  years 
old.2  We  may,  perhaps,  be  warranted  in  inferring:,  therefore, 
that  "  The  Tempest"  was  also  not  then  an  old  play. 

It  seems  to  us,  likewise,  that  the  internal  evidence,  derived 
from  style  and  language,  clearly  indicates  that  it  was  a  late 
production,  and  that  it  belongs  to  about  the  same  period  of 
our  great  dramatist's  literary  history  as  his  "  Winter's  Talc," 
which  was  also  chosen  for  a  Court-play,  and  represented  at 
Whitehall  only  four  days  after  "  The  Tempest"  had  been  ex- 
hibited. In  point  of  construction,  it  must  be  admitted  at  once 

1  The  earliest  date  hitherto  discovered  for  the  performance  of 
"The  Tempest  "was  the  beginning  of  the  year  1613,"  which  Ma- 
lone  established  from  Vertue's  MSS. :  it  was  then  acted  by  il  the 
Kind's  Company,  before  Prince  Charles,  the  Princess  Elizabeth, 
and  the  Prince  Palatine,"  but  where  is  not  stated. 

*  See  note  2  to  the  Introduction  to  "  The  Winter's  Tale."  The  par- 
ticular  play  to  which  we  refer  is  entitled  in  the  Revels'  Account 
"Lucrecia."  which  may  have  been  either  T.  Heywood's  "  Rape  oi 
Lucrece,"  first  printed  in  1608,  or  a  different  tragedy  on  the  same 
incidents. 


iv  INTRODUCTION. 

that  there  is  the  most  obvious  dissimilarity,  inasmuch  as 
"The  Winter's  Tale"  is  a  piece  in  which  the  unities  are  ut- 
terly disregarded,  while  in  "The  Tempest"  they  are  strictly 
observed.  It  is  only  in  the  involved  and  parenthetical  cha- 
racter of  some  of  the  speeches,  and  in  psychological  resem- 
blances, that  we  would  institute  a  comparison  between  "The 
Tempest"  and  the  "Winter's  Tale,"  and  would  infer  from 
thence  that  they  belong  to  about  the  same  period. 

Without  here  adverting  to  the  real  or  supposed  origin  of 
the  story,  or  to  temporary  incidents  which  may  have  sug 
gested  any  part  of  the  plot,  we  may  remark  that  there  is  one 
piece  of  external  evidence  which  strongly  tends  to  confirm 
the  opinion  that  "The  Tempest"  was  composed  not  very 
long  before  Ben  Jonson  wrote  one  of  his  comedies:  we  allude 
to  his  "  Bartholomew  Fair,"  and  to  a  passage  in  "  the  Induc- 
tion," frequently  mentioned,  and  which  we  concur  in  think- 
in?  was  intended  as  a  hit  not  only  at  "  The  Tempest,"  but  at 
"The  Winter's  Tale."  Ben  Jonson's  "Bartholomew  Fair," 
was  acted  in  1614,  and  written  perhaps  in  the  preceding  year,* 
during  the  popularity  of  Shakespeare's  two  plays :  and  there 
we  find  the  following  words,  which  we  reprint,  tor  the  first 
time,  exactly  as  they  stand  in  the  original  edition,  where 
Italic  type  seems  to  have  been  used  to  make  the  allusions 
more  diistinct  and  obvious: — "If  there  bee  never  a  Servant- 
moMter'i1  the  Fayre,  who  can  helpe  it,  he  saves;  nor  a  nest 
of  Antiques?  Hee  is  loth  to  make  Nature  atr-aid  in  his  Playes, 
like  those  that  beget  Tdles,  Tempests,  and  such  like  Drolle- 
ries." The  words  "servant-monster,"  "antiques,"  "Talcs," 
"  Tempests,"  and  "  drolleries,"  which  last  Shakespeare  him- 
self employs  in  "  The  Tempest,"  (Act  iii.  sc.  3.)  seetu  so  ap- 
plicable, that  they  can  hardly  relate  to  any  thing  else. 

It  may  be  urged,  however,  that  what  was  represented  at 
Court  in  1611  was  only  a  revival  of  an  older  play,  acted  before 
1596,  and  such  may  have  been  the  case  :  we  do  not.  however, 
think  it  probable,  for  several  reasons.  One  of  these  is  an 
apparently  trifling  circumstance,  pointed  out  by  Farmer;  viz. 
that  in  "'The  Merchant  of  Venice,"  written  before  1598,  the 
name  of  Stephano  is  invariably  pronounced  with  the  accent 
on  the  second  syllable,  while  iu  •'  The  Tempest,"  the  proper 
pronunciation  is  as  constantly  required  by  the  verse.  It 
seems  certain,  therefore,  that  Shakespeare  found  his  error  in 
the  interval,  and  he  may  have  learnt  it  from  Ben  Jonson's 
"  Every  Man  in  his  Humour,"  in  which  Shakespeare  per- 
formed, and  in  the  original  list  of  characters  to  which,  in  the 
edition  of  1601,  the  names  not  only  of  Stephano,  but  of  Pros- 
pero  occur. 

Another  circumstance  shows,  we  think  almost  decisively, 
that  "The  Tempest"  was  not  written  until  after  1603j  when 
the  translation  of  Montaigne's  Essays,  by  Florio,  made  its  first 

*  See  "  Alleyn  Papers."  printed  by  the  Shakespeare  Society,  p.  67. 
where  Daborne,  under  date  of  Nov.  13th,  1013,  speaks  of  "  Jonson'a 
play  •'  as  then  about  to  be  performed.  Possibly  it  was  deterred  for 
B  abort  time,  as  the  title-page  stales  that  it  was  acted  in  1014.  H 
•ay  have  been  written  in  1012.  for  performance  in  1613 


INTRODUCTION.  V 

appearance  in  print.  In  Act  II.  sc.  1,  is  a  passage  so  closely 
copied  from  Florio's  version,  as  to  leave  no  doubt  of  identity.* 
If  it  be  said  that  these  lines  may  have  been  an  insertion  sub- 
sequent to  the  original  production  of  the  play,  we  answer, 
that  the  passage  is  not  such  as  could  have  been  introduced, 
like  some  others,  to  answer  a  temporary  or  complimentary 
purpose,  and  that  it  is  given  as  a  necessary  and  continuous 
portion  of  the  dialogue. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Hunter,  in  his  very  ingenious  and  elaborate 
"  Disquisition  on  the  Tempest,"  has  referred  to  this  and  to 
other  points,  with  a  view  of  proving  that  every  body  has 
hitherto  been  mistaken,  and  that  this  play  instead  of  being 
one  of  his  latest,  was  one  of  Shakespeare's  earliest  works. 
With  regard  to  the  point  derived  from  Montaigne's  Essays 
by  Florio,  1603,  he  has  contended,  that  if  the  particular  essay 
were  not  separately  printed  before,  (of  which  we  have  not  the 
slightest  hint)  Shakespeare  may  have  seen  the  translation  in 
manuscript;  but  unless  he  so  saw  it  in  print  or  manuscript 
as  early  as  1595,  nothing  is  established  in  favour  of  Mr.  Hun- 
ter's argument ;  and  surely  when  other  circumstances  show 
that  "  The  Tempest"  was  not  written  till  1610,5  we  need  not 
hesitate  long  in  deciding  that  our  great  dramatist  went  to  no 
manuscript  authority,  but  took  the  passage  almost  verbatim, 
as  he  found  it  in  the  complete  edition.  In  the  same  way 
Mr.  Hunter  has  argued,  that  "  The  Tempest"  was  not  omitted 
by  Meres  in  his  list  in  1598,  but  that  it  is  found  there  under 
its  second  title,  of  "Love's  Labours  Won;"  but  this  is  little 
better  than  a  gratuitous  assumption,  even  supposing  we  were 
to  admit  that  "  All's  well  that  ends  Well "  is  not  the  play  in- 
tended by  Meres.6  Our  notion  is,  that  "All 's  well  that  ends 
Well"  was  originally  called  "Love's  Labours  Won,"  and 
that  it  was  revived,  with  some  other  changes,  tinder  a  new 
name  in  1605  or  1606. 

Neither  can  we  agree  with  Mr.  Hunter  in  thinking  that  he 
has  established,  that  nothing  was  suggested  to  Shakespeare' 

4  Malone  (Shaksp.  by  Boswell.  vol.  xv.  p.  78.)  quotes  this  impor- 
tant passage  from  Florio's  translation  of  Montaigne  with  a  singular 
degree  of  incorrectness  :  with  many  minor  Variations  he  substitutes 
partitions  for  "  dividonces,"  and  omits  the  words  "  no  manuring  of 
lands  "  altogether.  This  is  a  case  in  which  verbal,  and  even  literal, 
accuracy  is  important. 

•  In  the  Introduction  to  "  The  Winter's  Tale,"  we  have  assigned 
a  reason,  founded  upon  a  pnss.ige.in  R.  Greene's  "  Pandosto."  for 
be  ievi-ig  that  "The  Tempest"  was  anterior  in  composition  to  that 
play 

B  Mr  Hi-ntei  contends  that  in  "  The  Tempest  "  "  love's  labours" 
are  "  won  ;''  but  such  is  the  case  with  every  play  in  which  the  issue 
is  successful  passion,  after  difficulties  and  disappointments :  in 
';  The  Tempest"  they  are  fewer  than  in  most  other  plays,  since 
from  first  to  last  the  love  of  Ferdinand  and  Miranda  is  prosperous. 
At  all  events  ':  The  Tempest  "  was  played  at  Court  under  that  title 
in  Hill  and  1613.  Mr.  Hunter  also  endeavours  to  establish  that 
Ben  Jonson  alluded  to  "  The  Tempest ;>  in  1596.  in  the  Prologue  to 
"  Every  Man  in  his  Humour;"  but  while  we  admit  the  acuteness, 
wi-  cannot  by  any  means  allow  the  conclusivencss.  of  Mr.  Hunter's 

VOL.    I.  16 


VI  INTRODUCTION, 

by  the  storm,  in  July  1609,  which  dispersed  tl  e  fleet  undei 
Sir  George  Somers  and  Sir  Thomas  Gates,  of  which  an  ac- 
count was  published  by  a  person  of  the  name  of  Jourdan  in 
the  following  year.  This  point  was,  to  our  mind,  satisfacto- 
rily made  out  by  Malone,  and  the  mention  of  "  the  still-vex'd 
Bcrmoothea"  by  Shakespeare  seems  directly  to  connect  the 
drama  with  Jourdan's  "  Discovery  of  the  Bermudas,  other- 
wise called  the  Isle  of  Devils,"  printed  in  1610.  We  are  told 
:.t  the  end  of  the  play,  in  the  folio  of  1623,  that  the  scene  ia 
laid  "in  an  uninhabited  island,"  and  Mr.  Hunter  has  con- 
tended that  this  island  was  Lampedusa,  which  unquestionably 
lies  in  the  track  which  the  ships  in  "The  Tempest"  would 
take.  Our  objection  to  this  theory  is  two-fold  :  first,  we  can- 
not persuade  ourselves,  that  Shakespeare  had  any  particular 
island  in  his  mind;  and  secondly,  if  he  had  meant  to  lay  his 
scene  in  Lampedusa,  he  could  hardly  have  failed  to  introduce 
its  name  in  some  part  of  his  performance :  in  consequence  of 
the  deficiency  of  scenery,  &c.,  it  was  the  constant  custom 
with  our  early  dramatists  to  mention  distinctly,  and  often 
more  than  once?  where  the  action  was  supposed  to  take  place. 
As  a  minor  point,  we  may  add,  that  we  know  of  no  extant 
English  authority  to  which  he  could  have  gone  for  informa- 
tion, and  wo  do  not  suppose  that  he  consulted  the  Turco 
(rrcecics  of  Crusius,  the  only  older  authority  quoted  by  Mr. 
Hunter. 

No  novel,  in  prose  or  verse,  to  which  Shakespeare  resorted 
for  the  incidents  of  "  The  Tempest "  has  yet  been  discovered ; 
and  although  Collins,  late  in  his  brief  career,  mentioned  to 
T.  Warton  that  he  had  seen  such  a  tale,  it  has  never  come  to 
light,  and  we  apprehend  that  he  must  have  been  mistaken. 
We  have  turned  over  the  pages  of,  we  believe,  every  Italian 
novelist,  anterior  to  the  age  of  Shakespeare,  in  hopes  of  find- 
ing some  story  containing  traces  of  the  incidents  of  "The 
Tempest,"  but  without  success.  The  ballad  entitled  "  The 
Inchanted  Island,"  printed  in  "Farther  Particulars  regarding 
Shakespeare  and  his  Works,"  is  a  more  modern  production 
than  the  play,  from  which  it  varies  in  the  names,  as  well  as  in 
some  points  of  the  story,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of  concealing 
its  connection  with  a  production  which  was  popular  on  the 
stage.  Our  opinion  decidedly  is,  that  it  was  founded  upon 
'•The  Tempest,"  and  not  upon  any  ancient  narrative  to  which 
Shakespeare  also  might  have  been  indebted.  It  may  be  re- 
marked, that  here  also  no  locality  is  given  to  the  island :  on 
the  contrary,  we  are  told,  if  it  ever  had  any  existence  but  in 
the  imagination  of  the  poet,  that  it  had  disappeared  : — 

"From  that  dale  forth  the  Isle  has  beene 
By  wandering  sailors  never  seene 

Some  say  'tis  buryed  deepe 
Beneath  the  sea,  wh'k-h  breakes  and  rores 
Atwve  its  savage  rocky  shores, 

Nor  ere  is  knowne  to  sleepe." 

Mr.  Thorns  has  pointed  out  some  resemblances  in  the  inci- 
dent* of  an  early  German  play,  entitled  Die  Schone  Sidea,  and 
"The  Tempest:"  his  theory  is,  that  a  drama  upon  a  similar 


INTRODUCTION.  VE 

story  was  at  an  early  date  performed  in  Germany,  and  that 
if  it  were  not  taken  from  Shakespeare's  play,  it  was  perhaps 
derived  from  the  same  unknown  source.  Mr.  Thorns  is 
preparing  a  translation  of  it  for  the  Shakespeare  Society,  and 
we  shall  then  be  better  able  to  form  an  opinion,  as  to  the  real 
or  supposed  connection  between  the  two. 

When  Coleridge  tells  us  (Lit.  Rein.  ii.  p.  94.)  that  "  '  The 
Tempest'  is  a  specimen  of  the  purely  romantic  Drama,"  he 
of  course  refers  to  the  nature  of  the  plot  and  personages:  in 
one  sense  of  the  words,  it  is  not  a  "  romantic  drama,"  inas- 
much as  there  are  few  plays,  ancient  or  modern,  in  which  the 
unities  are  more  exactly  observed  :  the  whole  of  the  events 
occupy  only  a  few  hours.  At  the  same  time  it  is  perfectly 
true,  as  the  same  enlightened  and  fanciful  commentator  adds, 
"It  is  a-species  of  drama,  which  owes  no  allegiance  to  time 
or  space,  and  in  which,  therefore,  errors  of  chronology  and 
geography — no  mortal  sins  in  any  species — are  venial  faults, 
and  count  for  nothing:  it  addresses  itself  entirely  to  the 
imaginative  faculty."  This  opinion  was  delivered  in  1818; 
and  three  years  earlier  Coleridge  had  spoken  of  "The  Tem- 
pest," as  certainly  one  of  Shakespeare's  latest  works,  judg- 
ing from  the  language  only  :  Schlegel  was  of  the  same  opinion, 
without,  however,  assigning  any  distinct  reason,  and  insti- 
tuted a  comparison  between  "  The  Tempest "  and  "  Midsum- 
mer Night's  Dream,"  adding,  "The  preponderance  of  thought 
in  '  The  Tempest,'  exhibited  in  its  profound  and  original  cha- 
racterisation, strikes  us  at  once ;  but  we  must  also  admire  the 
deep  sense  of  the  art  (tiefsinnige  Kunst)  which  is  apparent  in 
the  structure  of  the  whole,  in  the  wise  economy  of  its  means, 
and  in  the  skill  with  which  the  scaffolding  is  raised  to  sustain 
the  marvellous  aerial  structure."  Ueber  Dram.  Kunst  v»d 
LUt.  Vol.  iii.  p.  123.  edit.  1817. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

ALONSO,  King  of  Naples. 

SEBASTIAN,  his  Brother. 

PROSPERO,  the  right  Duke  of  Milan. 

ANTONIO,  his  Brother,  the  usurping  Duke  of 

Milan. 

FERDINAND,  Son  to  the  King  of  Naples. 
GONZALO,  an  honest  old  Counsellor. 
ADRIAN,       )  T      , 
FRANCISCO,  }Lord8' 

CALIBAN,  a  savage  and  deformed  Slave. 
TRINCULO,  a  Jester. 
STEPHANO,  a  drunken  Butler. 
Master  of  a  Ship,  Boatswain,  Mariners. 
MIRANDA,  Daughter  to  Prospero. 
ARIEL,  an  airy  Spirit. 
IRIS, 
CERES, 

JUNO,         }•  Spirits. 
Nymphs, 
Reapers, 

Other  Spirits  attending  on  Prospero. 

SCENE,  a  Ship  at  Sea;1  afterwards  an  uninhabited 
Island. 

>  Forme:  editions  :  the  sea  with  a  ship. 


THE    TEMPEST. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.— On  a  Ship  at  Sea. 

A  tempestuous  noise  of  Thunder  and  Lightning  heard.1 

Enter  a  Ship-master  and  a  Boatswain,  as  on  ship-board, 

shaking  off  wet* 

Master.  Boatswain  ! 

'Boats.  Here,  master  :  what  cheer? 

Mast.  Good.  Speak  to  the  mariners :  fall  to  't  yarely,* 
or  we  run  ourselves  aground :  bestir,  bestir.         [Exit . 
Enter  Mariners. 

Boats.  Heigh,  my  hearts !  cheerly,  cheerly,  my 
hearts  !  yare,  yare.  Take  in  the  topsail ;  tend  to  the 
master's  whistle. — Blow,  till  thou  burst  thy  wind,  if 
room  enough  ! 

Enter  ALONZO,  SEBASTIAN,  ANTONIO,  FERDINAND,  GON- 
ZALO,  and  Others,  from  the  Cabin.* 

Jf/on.  Good  boatswain,  have  a5  care.  Where's  the 
master  ?  Play  the  men. 

Boats.  I  pray  now,  keep  below. 

Ant.  Where  is  the  master,  boatswain  ? 

Boats.  Do  you  not  hear  him  ?  You  mar  our  labour. 
Keep  your  cabins :  you  do  assist  the  storm. 

Gon.  Nay,  good,  be  patient. 

Boats.  When  the  sea  is.  Hence  !  What  care  these 
roarers  for  the  name  of  king  ?  To  cabin :  silence  ! 
trouble  us  not. 

Gon.  Good ;  yet  remember  whom  thou  hast  aboard. 

Boats.  None  that  I  more  love  than  myself.  You 
are  a  counsellor  :  if  you  can  command  these  elements 
to  silence,  and  work  the  peace  of  the  present,  we  will 
not  hand  a  rope  more ;  use  your  authority :  if  you 
cannot,  give  thanks  you  have  lived  so  long,  and  make 
yourself  ready  in  your  cabin  for  the  mischance  of  the 

'  heard  :  not  in  f.  e.  *  as  on  ship-board,  etc.  :  not  in  f.  e.  s  Nim 
bly.  «  from  the  cabin  :  not  in  f.  e.  *  a  :  not  in  f.  e. 


10  1  ire  .  TEMPEST.  ACT  I. 

hour-  if  it.  so.hap.  .  .Cheerly,  good  hearts  ! — Out  of  our 
vny    I  .<:•>.     '    .•-*{  :  [Exit- 

Gon.  I  have  great  comfort  from  this  fellow :  me- 
thinks,  he  hath  no  drowning  mark  upon  him ;  his  com- 
plexion is  perfect  gallows.  Stand  fast,  good  fate,  to 
his  hanging :  make  the  rope  of  his  destiny  our  cable, 
for  our  own  doth  little  advantage.  If  he  be  not  born 
to  be  hanged,  our  case  is  miserable.  [Exeunt. 

Re-enter  Boatswain, 

Boats.  Down  with  the  top-mast :  yare ;  lower,  lower. 
Bring  her  to  try  with  main-course.  [A  cry  within.] 
A  plague  upon  this  howling  !  they  are  louder  than  the 
weather,  or  our  office. — 

Re-enter  SEBASTIAN,  ANTONIO,  and  GONZALO. 
Yet  again  !  what  do  you  here  ?    Shall  we  give  o'er,  and 
drown  ?     Have  you  a  mind  to  sink  ? 

Seb.  A  pox  o'  your  throat,  you  bawling,  blasphemous, 
incharitable  dog ! 

Boats.  Work  you,  then. 

Ant .  Hang,  cur.  hang  !  you  whoreson,  insolent  noise- 
maker,  we  are  less  afraid  to  be  drowned  than  thou  art. 

Gon.  I  '11  warrant  him  for  drowning ;  though  the 
ship  were  no  stronger  than  a  nutshell,  and  as  leaky  as 
an  unstanched  wench. 

Boats.  Lay  her  a-hold,  a-hold.  Set  her  two  courses : 
off  to  sea  again ;  lay  her  off. 

Enter  Mariners,  wet. 

Mar.  All  lost !  to  prayers,  to  prayers  !  all  lost !  [Ex. 

Boats.  What !  must  our  mouths  be  cold  ?        [them. 

Gon.  The  king  and  prince  at  prayers !  let  us  assist 
For  our  case  is  as  theirs. 

Seb.  I  am  out  of  patience. 

Ant .  We  are  merely1  cheated  of  our  lives  by  drunk- 

ards. 
This  wide-chapp'd  rascal, — would,  thou  might'st  lie 

drowning, 
The  washing  of  ten  tides  ! 

Gon.  He'll  be  hanged  yet, 

Though  every  drop  of  water  swear  against  it, 
And  gape  at  wid'st  to  glut  him.     [A  confused  noise 

within.]     Mercy  on  us  ! — 
We  split,  we  split — Farewell,  my  wife  and  children  ! — 

1  Absolutely. 


THE    TEMPEST.  11 

Farewell,  brother  ! — We  split,  we  split,  we  split ! — 
Ant.  Let  's  all  sink  with  the  king.  [Exit. 

Seb.  Let 's  take  leave  of  him.  [Exit. 

Gon.  Now  would  I  give  a  thousand  furlongs  of  sea 

for  an  acre  of  barren  ground  •  long  heath,  brown  furze. 

any  thing.     The  wills  above  be  done  !  but   I  would 

fain  die  a  dry  death.  [Exit 

SCENE  II.— The  Island:  before  the  cell  of  PROSPERO 
Enter  PROSPERO  and  MIRANDA. 

Mira.  If  by  your  art,  my  dearest  father,  you  have 
Put  the  wild  waters  in  this  roar,  allay  them. 
The  sky.  it  seems,  would  pour  down  stinking  pitch, 
But  that  the  sea,  mounting  to  the  welkin's  heat,1 
Dashes  the  fire  out.     0  !  I  have  suffer'd 
With  those  that  I  saw  suffer  :  a  brave  vessel, 
Who  had  no  doubt  some  noble  creatures2  in  her, 
Dash'd  all  to  pieces.     0  !  the  cry  did  knock 
Against  my  very  heart.     Poor  souls,  they  perish'd. 
Had  I  been  any  god  of  power,  I  would 
Have  sunk  the  sea  within  the  earth,  or  e'er 
It  should  the  good  ship  so  have  swallow'd,  and 
The  fraughting  souls  within  her. 

•Pro.  Be  collected: 

No  more  amazement.     Tell  your  piteous  heart, 
There's  no  harm  done. 

Mira.  0,  woe  the  day ! 

Pro.  No  harm. 

I  have  done  nothing  but  in  care  of  thee, 
(Of  thee,  my  dear  one  !  thee,  my  daughter !)  who 
Art  ignorant  of  what  thou  art,  nought  knowing 
Of  whence  I  am ;  nor  that  I  am  more  better 
Than  Prospero,  master  of  a  full  poor  cell, 
And  thy  no  greater  father. 

Mira.  More  to  know 

Did  never  meddle  with  my  thoughts. 

Pro.  'Tis  time 

I  should  inform  thee  farther.     Lend  thy  hand, 
And  pluck  my  magic  garment  from  me. — So  : 

[Lays  down  his  robe. 

Lie  there  my  art. — Wipe  thou  thine  eyes ;  have  comfort 
The  direful  spectacle  of  the  wreck,  wrhich  touch'd 

>  cheek  :  in  f.  e.    '  creature  :  in  f.  e.    »  mantle  :  in  f.  e. 


12  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  I. 

The  very  virtue  of  compassion  in  thee, 

I  have  with  such  prevision1  in  mine  art 

So  safely  order'd,  that  there  is  no  soul — 

No.  not  so  much  perdition  as  an  hair, 

Betid  to  any  creature  in  the  vessel 

Which  thou  heard'st  cry,  which  thou  saw'st  sink.     Sil 

down; 
For  thou  must  now  know  farther. 

Mir  a.  You  have  often 

Begun  to  tell  me  what  I  am ;  but  stopp'd, 
And  left  me  to  a  bootless  inquisition, 
Concluding,  "  Stay,  not  yet." 

Pro.  The  hour's  now  come, 

The  very  minute  bids  thee  ope  thine  ear ; 
Obey,  and  be  attentive.     Canst  thou  remember 
A  time  before  we  came  unto  this  cell  ?       [Sits  down.* 
I  do  not  think  thou  canst,  for  then  thou  wast  not 
Out  three  years  old. 

Mira.  Certainly,  sir,  I  can. 

Pro.  By  what  ?  by  any  other  house,  or  person  ? 
Of  any  thing  the  image  tell  me,  that 
Hath  kept  with  thy  remembrance. 

Mira.  'Tis  far  off; 

And  rather  like  a  dream,  than  an  assurance 
That  my  remembrance  warrants.     Had  I  not 
Four  or  five  women  once,  that  tended  me  ? 

Pro.  Thou  hadst,  and  more,  Miranda.    But  how  isitj 
That  this  lives  in  thy  mind  ?     What  seest  thou  else 
In  the  dark  backward  and  abysm  of  time  ? 
If  thou  remember'st  aught,  ere  thou  cam'st  here, 
How  thou  cam'st  here,  thou  may'st. 

Mira.  But  that  I  do  not. 

Pro.  Twelve  year  since,  Miranda,  twelve  year  since 
Thy  father  was  the  duke  of  Milan,  and 
A  prince  of  power. 

Mira.  Sir,  are  not  you  my  father  ? 

Pro.  Thy  mother  was  a  piece  of  virtue,  and 
She  said — thou  wast  my  daughter  ;  and  thy  father 
Was  duke  of  Milan,  thou3  his  only  heir 
And  princess,  no  worse  issued. 

Mira.  0,  the  heavens  ! 

What  foul  play  had  we,  that  we  came  from  thence  ? 
Or  blessed  was't,  we  did? 

»  provision  :  in  f.  e.    »  Not  in  f.  e     3  and  :  jn  f.  8. 


RC.  II.  THE    TEMPEST.  13 

Pro.  Both,  both,  my  girl : 

By  foul  play,  as  thou  say'st,  were  we  heav'd  thence ; 
But  blessedly  holp  hither. 

Mira.  0  !  my  heart  bleeds 

To  think  o'  the  teen1  that  I  have  tnrn'd  you  to, 
Which  is  from  my  remembrance.     Please  you,  farther 

Pro.  My  brother,  and  thy  uncle,  call'd  Antonio, — 
I  pray  thee,  mark  me, — that  a  brother  should 
Be  so  perfidious  ! — he  whom,  next  thyself, 
Of  all  the  world  I  lov'd,  and  to  him  put 
The  manage  of  my  state ;  as,  at  that  time, 
Through  all  the  signiories  it  was  the  first, 
(And  Prospero  the  prime  duke,  being  so  reputed 
In  dignity)  and,  for  the  liberal  arts, 
Without  a  parallel  :  those  being  all  my  study, 
The  government  I  cast  upon  my  brother, 
And  to  my  state  grew  stranger,  being  transported 
And  rapt  in  secret  studies.     Thy  false  uncle—- 
Dost thou  attend  me  ? 

Mira.  Sir,  most  heedfully. 

Pro.  Being  once  perfected  how  to  grant  suits, 
How  to  deny  them,  whom  t'  advance,  and  whom 
To  trash3  for  over-topping,  new  created 
The  creatures  that  were  mine,  I  say,  or  chang'd  them,, 
Or  else  new  form'd  them ;  having  both  the  key 
Of  officer  and  office,  set  all  hearts  i'  the  state 
To  what  tune  pleas'd  his  ear ;  that  now  he  was 
The  ivy,  which  had  hid  my  princely  trunk, 
And  suck'd  my  verdure  out  on't.     Thou  attend'st  not. 

Mira.  0  good  sir !  I  do. 

Pro.  I  pray  thee,  mark  me. 

1  thus  neglecting  worldly  ends,  all  dedicated 
To  closeness,  and  the  bettering  of  my  mind 
With  that,  which  but  by  being  so  retired 
O'er-priz'd  all  popular  rate,  in  my  false  brother 
A  wak'd  an  evil  nature  :  and  my  trust, 
Like  a  good  parent,  did  beget  of  him 
A  falsehood,  in  its  contrary  as  great 
As  my  trust  was ;  which  had,  indeed,  no  limit, 
A  confidence  sans  bound.     He  being  thus  loaded,* 
Not  only  with  what  my  revenue  yielded, 
But  what  my  power  might  else  exact, — like  one, 

i  Trouble,     a  A    hunting    term,  signifying    to  beat  back      »e« 
Uthello,  II.,  1.     3  lorded:  inf.  e. 


14  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  tl. 

Who  having  to  untruth.1  by  telling  of  it, 

Made  such  a  sinner  of  his  memory, 

To  credit  his  own  lie, — he  did  believe 

He  was  indeed  the  duke  ;  out  o'  the  substitution, 

And  executing  th'  outward  face  of  royalty, 

With  all  prerogative : — hence  his  ambition 

Growing — Dost  thou  hear  ? 

Mira.  Your  tale,  sir,  would  cure  deafness. 

Pro.  To  have  no  screen  between  this  part  he  play'd, 
And  him  he  play'd  it  for,  he  needs  will  be 
Absolute  Milan.     Me,  poor  man  ! — my  library 
Was  dukedom  large  enough  :  of  temporal  royalties 
He  thinks  me  now  incapable ;  confederates 
(So  dry  he  was  for  sway)  with  the  king  of  Naples, 
To  give  him  annual  tribute,  do  him  homage, 
Subject  his  coronet  to  his  crown,  and  bend 
The  dukedom,  yet  unbow'd,  (alas,  poor  Milan  !) 
To  most  ignoble  stooping. 

Mira.  0  the  heavens  ! 

Pro.  Mark  his  condition,  and  th'  event;  then  tell  me, 
If  this  might  be  a  brother. 

Mira.  I  should  sin 

To  think  but  nobly  of  my  grandmother ; 
Good  wombs  have  borne  bad  sons. 

Pro.  Now  the  condition 

This  king  of  Naples,  being  an  enemy 
To  me  inveterate,  hearkens  my  brother's  suit ; 
Which  was,  that  he  in  lieu  o'  the  premises, — 
Of  homage,  and  I  know  not  how  much  tribute, — 
Should  presently  extirpate  me  and  mine 
Out  of  the  dukedom,  and  confer  fair  Milan, 
With  all  the  honours,  on  my  brother  :  whereon, 
A  treacherous  army  levied,  one  midnight, 
Fated  to  the  practise,2  did  Antonio  open 
The  gates  of  Milan  ;  and,  i'  the  dead  of  darkness, 
The  ministers  for  the  purpose  hurried  thence 
Me,  and  thy  crying  self. 

Mira.  Alack,  for  pity  ! 

I,  not  rememb'ring  how  I  cried  out  then, 
Will  cry  it  o'er  again  :  it  is  a  hint, 
That  wrings  mine  eyes  to 't. 

Pro.  Hear  a  little  farther, 

And  then  I'll  bring  thee  to  the  present  business 
•  unl  i  truth  :  in  f  e     *  purpose  :  in  f .  e. 


BC.  II.  THE    TEMPEST.  15 

Which  now 's  upon 's  ;  without  the  which  this  story 
Were  most  impertinent. 

Mira.  Wherefore  did  they  not 

That  hour  destroy  us  ? 

Pro.  Well  demanded,  wench  : 

My  tale  provokes  that  question.     Dear,  they  durst  not, 
So  dear  the  love  my  people  bore  me,  nor  set 
A  mark  so  bloody  on  the  business  ;  but 
Wfth  colours  fairer  painted  their  foul  ends. 
In  few,  they  hurried  us  aboard  a  bark, 
Bore  us  some  leagues  to  sea,  where  they  prepared 
A  rotten  carcass  of  a  boat,1  not  rigg'd, 
Nor  tackle,  sail,  nor  mast ;  the  very  rats 
Instinctively  had    quit  it :  there  they  hoist  us, 
To  cry  to  the  sea  that  roar'd  to  us ;  to  sigh 
To  the  winds,  whose  pity,  sighing  back  again, 
Did  us  but  loving  wrong. 

Mira.  Alack  !  what  trouble 

Was  I  then  to  you  ! 

Pro.  0  !  a  cherubim 

Thou  wast,  that  did  preserve  me.     Thou  didst  smile, 
Infused  with  a  fortitude  from  heaven, 
When  I  have  deck'd  the  sea  with  drops  full  salt, 
Under  rny  burden  groan'd  j  which  rais'd  in  me 
An  undergoing  stomach,  to  bear  up 
Against  what  should  ensue. 

Mira.  How  came  we  ashore? 

Pro.  By  Providence  divine. 
Some  food  we  had,  and  some  fresh  water,  that 
A  noble  Neapolitan,  Gonzalo, 
Out  of  his  charity,  (who  being  then  appointed 
Master  of  this  design)  did  give  us  •  with 
Rich  garments,  linens,  stuffs,  and  necessaries, 
Which  since  have  steaded  much  :  so,  of  his  gentleueM, 
Knowing  I  lov'd  my  books,  he  furnish'd  me, 
From  my  own  library,  with  volumes  that 
I  prize  above  my  dukedom. 

Mira.  Would  I  might 

But  ever  see  that  man ! 

Pro.  Now  I  arise  : —  [Puts  on  his  robe  again* 

Sit  still,  and  hear  the  last  of  our  sea-sorrow. 
Here  in  this  island  we  arriv'd  ;  and  here 
Have  I,  thy  schoolmaster,  made  thee  more  profit 

»  butt :  in  f.  e.    «  have  :  in  f.  e.    3  This  direction  is  not  in  f.  e 


]6  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  I. 

Than  other  princes'  can,  that  have  more  time 
For  vainer  hours,  and  tutors  not  so  careful. 

Mira.  Heavens  thank  you  for't !     And  now,  1  pray 

you,  sir, 

For  still  'tis  beating  in  my  mind,  your  reason 
For  raising  this  sea-storm? 

Pro.  Know  thus  far  forth.— 

By  accident  most  strange,  bountiful  fortune, 
Now  my  dear  lady,  hath  mine  enemies 
Brought  to  this  shore ;  and  by  my  prescience 
I  find  my  zenith  doth  depend  upon 
A  most  auspicious  star,  whose  influence 
If  now  I  court  not,  but  omit,  my  fortunes 
Will  ever  after  droop.     Here  cease  more  questions. 
Thou  art  inclined  to  sleep ;  'tis  a  good  dulness, 
And  give  it  way : — I  know  thou  canst  not  choose. — 

[MIRANDA  sleeps. 

Come  away,  servant,  come  !     I  am  ready  now. 
Approach,  my  Ariel :  come  ! 

Enter  ARIEL. 

Ari.  All  hail,  great  master ;  grave  sir,  hail.    I  come 
To  answer  thy  best  pleasure ;  be  't  to  fly, 
To  swim,  to  dive  into  the  fire,  to  ride 
On  the  curl'd  clouds  :  to  thy  strong  bidding  task 
Ariel,  and  all  his  quality. 

Pro.  Hast  thou,  spirit, 

Perform'd  to  point  the  tempest  that  I  bade  thee  ? 

Ari.  To  every  article. 

I  boarded  the  king's  ship ;  now  oft  the  beak, 
Now  in  the  waist,  the  deck,  in  every  cabin, 
I  flam'd  amazement :  sometimes,  1  'd  divide, 
And  burn  in  many  places ;  on  the  topmast, 
The  yards  and  bowsprit,  would  I  flame  distinctly, 
Then  meet,  and  join.    Jove's  lightnings,  the  precursors 
0'  the  dreadful  thunder-claps,  more  momentary 
And  sight-outrunning  were  not :  the  fire,  and  cracks 
Of  sulphurous  roaring  the  most  mighty  Neptune 
Seem  to  besiege,  and  make  his  bold  waves  tremble, 
Yea,  his  dread  trident  shake. 

Pro.  My  brave  spirit ! 

Who  was  so  firm,  so  constant,  that  this  coil 
Would  not  infect  his  reason? 

Ari.  Not  a  soul 

1  princess:  in  f.  e. 


6C.    II.  THE    TEMPEST.  17 

But  felt  a  fever  of  the  mad,  and  play'd 

Some  tricks  of  desperation.     All,  but  mariners, 

Plung'd  in  the  foaming  brine,  and  quit  the  vessel. 

Then  all  a-fire  -with  me :  the  king's  son,  Ferdinand, 

With  hair  up-staring  (then  like  reeds,  not  hair) 

Was  the  first  man  that  leap'd;   cried,  "  Hell  is  empty 

And  all  the  devils  are  here." 

Pro.  Why,  that's  my  sprrit ! 

But  was  not  this  nigh  shore? 

Ari.  Close  by,  my  master. 

Pro.  But  are  they,  Ariel,  safe  ? 

Ari.  Not  a  hair  perish'd ; 

.On  their  sustaining  garments  not  a  blemish,- 
But  fresher  than  before :  and.  as  thou  bad'st  me, 
In  troops  I  have  dispers'd  them  'bout  the  isle. 
The  king's  son  have  I  landed  by  himself, 
Whom  I  left  cooling  of  the  air  with  sighs 
In  an  odd  angle  of  the  isle,  and  sitting, 
His  arms  in  this  sad  knot. 

Pro.  Of  the  king's  ship 

The  mariners,  say,  how  thou  hast  dispos'd, 
And  all  the  rest  o'  the  fleet? 
,  Ari.  Safely  in  harbour 

Is  the  king's  ship  :  in  the  deep  nook,  where  once 
Thou  call'dst  me  up  at  midnight  to  fetch  dew 
From  the  still-vex' d  Berrnoothes.  there  she's  hid : 
The  mariners  all  under  hatches  stow'd  ; 
Whom,  with  a  charm  joined  to  their  sufler'd  labour, 
I  have  left  asleep :  and  for  the  rest  o;  the  fleet 
Which  I  dispers'd,  they  all  have  met  again, 
And  all1  upon  the  Mediterranean  float,2 
Bound  sadly  home  for  Naples, 
Supposing  that  they  saw  the  king's  ship  wreck'd, 
And  his  great  person  perish. 

Pro.  Ariel,  thy  charge 

Exactly  is  perform'd  ;  but  there's  more  work. 
What  is  the  time  o'  the  day? 

Ari.  Past  the  mid  season. 

Pro.  At  least  two  glasses.  The  time  'twixt  six  and  no\v 
Must  by  us  both  be  spent  most  preciously. 

Ari.  Is  there  more  toil  ?  Since  thou  dost  give  me  pains 
Let  me  r  '/member  thce  what  thou  hast  promis'd, 
Which  is  not  yet  perform'd  me. 

1  are  :  in  f.  e.    2  flote  :  in  f,  e. 


18  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  I, 

pro<  How  now !  moody  ? 

What  is  't  thou  canst  demand? 

Ari.  My  liberty. 

Pro.  Before  the  time  be  out  ?  no  more. 

Ari.  I  prithee 

Remember,  I  have  done  thee  worthy  service ; 
Told  thee  no  lies,  made  thee  no  mistakings,  serv'd 
Without  or  grudge,  or  grumblings.  Thou  didst  promise 
To  bate  me  a  full  year. 

Pro.  Dost  thou  forget 

From  what  a  torment  I  did  free  thee  ? 

Ari.  No. 

Pro.  ThOu  dost ;  and  think' st  it  much,  to  tread  the  ooze 
Of  the  salt  deep, 

To  run  upon  the  sharp  wind  of  the  north, 
To  do  me  business  in  the  veins  o'  th'  earth, 
When  it  is  bak'd  with  frost. 

Ari.  I  do  not,  sir. 

Pro.  Thou  liest,  malignant  thing !    Hast  thou  forgot 
The  foul  witch  Sycorax,  who,  with  age  and  envy, 
Was  grown  into  a  hoop?  hast  thou  forgot  her? 

Ari.  No,  sir. 

Pro.  Thou  hast.     Where  was  she  born? 

speak ;  tell  me. 

Ari.  Sir,  in  Argier. 

Pro.  0  !  was  she  so  ?     I  must, 
Once  in  a  month,  recount  what  thou  hast  been, 
Which  thou  forget'st.     This  damn'd  witch,  Sycorax, 
For  mischiefs  manifold,  and  sorceries  terrible 
To  enter  human  hearing,  from  Argier, 
Thou  know'st,  was  banish'd :  for  one  thing  she  did, 
They  would  not  take  her  life.     Is  not  this  true  ? 

Ari.  Ay,  sir. 

Pro.  This  blue-eyed  hag  was  hither  brought  with 

child, 

And  here  was  left  by  the  sailors :  thou,  my  slave 
As  thou  report' st  thyself,  wast  then  her  servant.1 
And,  for  thou  wast  a  spirit  too  delicate 
To  act  her  earthy  and  abhorr'd  commands, 
Refusing  her  grand  hests,  she  did  confine  thee, 
By  help  of  her  more  potent  ministers, 
And  in  her  most  unmitigable  rage, 
Into  a  cloven  pine ;  within  which  rift 
Imprison'd,  thou  didst  painfully  remain 


SC.  II.  THE    TEMPEST.  19 

A.  dozen  years ;  within  which  space  she  died, 

And  left  thee  there,  where  them  didst  vent  thy  groans 

As  fast  as  mill-wheels  strike.     Then  was  this  island 

(Save  for  a1  son  that  she  did  litter  here. 

A  freckled  whelp,  hag-born)  not  honour'd  with 

A  human  shape. 

An.  Yes;  Caliban,  her  son. 

Pro.  Dull  thing,  I  say  so;  he,  that  Caliban, 
Whom  now  T  keep  in  service.     Thou  best  know'st 
What  torment  I  did  find  thee  in :  thy  groans 
Did  make  wolves  howl,  and  penetrate  the  breasts 
Of  ever-angry  bears.     It  was  a  torment 
To  lay  upon  the  damn'd,  which  Sycorax 
Could  not  again  undo  :  It  was  mine  art, 
When  I  arrived  and  heard  thee,  that  made  gape 
The  pine,  and  let  thee  out. 

Ari.  I  thank  thee,  master. 

Pro.  If  thou  more  murmur'st,  I  will  rend  an  oak, 
And  peg  thee  in  his  knotty  entrails,  till 
Thou  hast  howl'd  away  twelve  winters. 

Ari.  Pardon,  master . 

I  will  be  correspondent  to  command, 
And  do  my  spriting  gently. 

Pro.  Do  so,  and  after  two  days 

I  will  discharge  thee. 

Ari.  That's  my  noble  master  ! 

What  shall  I  do?  say  what?  what  shall  I  do  ? 

Pro.  Go,  make  thyself  a  like  nymph2  o'  the  sea  :  be 

subject 

To  no  sight  but  thine  and  mine  ;  invisible 
To  every  eyeball,  else.     Go,  take  this  shape, 
And  hither  come  in 't ;  go ;  hence,  with  diligence. 

[Exit  ARIEL. 

A  wake,  dear  heart,  awake  !  thou  hast  slept  well ; 
A  wake ! 

Mira.  The  strangeness  of  your  story  put  [Waking.* 
Heaviness  in  me. 

Pro.  Shake  it  off.     Come  on : 

We'll  visit  Caliban,  my  slave,  who  never 
Yields  us  kind  answer. 

Mira.  'Tis  a  villain,  sir, 

1  do  not  love  to  look  on. 

Pro  But,  as  'tis, 

1  the  :  in  f  o.    2  like  a  :  in  f.  e.    »  Not  in  f  0 


20  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  L 

We  cannot  miss  him :  he  does  make  oar  fire, 
Fetch  in  our  wood,  and  serves  in  offices 
That  profit  us. — What  ho  !  slave !  Caliban ! 
Thou  earth,  thou !  speak. 

Col.  [Within]  There's  wood  enough  within. 

Pro.  Come  forth,  I  say ;  there's  other  business  for  thee 
Come,  thou  tortoise  !  when  ? 

Re-enter  ARIEL,  like  a  water-nymph. 
Fine  apparition  !     My  quaint  Ariel, 
Hark  in  thine  ear. 

Ari.  My  lord,  it  shall  be  done.  [Exit. 

Pro.  Thou  poisonous  slave,  got  by  the  devil  himself 
Upon  thy  wicked  dam,  come  forth ! 
.     Enter  CALIBAN. 

Cat.  As  wicked  dew,  as  e'er  my  mother  brush' d 
With  raven's  feather  from  unwholesome  fen, 
Drop  on  you  both  !  a  south-west  blow  on  ye, 
And  blister  you  all  o'er ! 

Pro.  For  this,  be  sure,  to-night  thou  shalt  have  cramps, 
Side-stitches  that  shall  pen  thy  breath  up ;  urchins 
Shall,  for  that  vast  of  night  that  they  may  work, 
All  exercise  on  thee :  thou  shalt  be  pinch' d 
As  thick  as  honey-combs,'  each  pinch  more  stinging 
Than  bees  that  made  ;em. 

Cal.  I  must  eat  my  dinner. 

This  island's  mine,  by  Sycorax  my  mother, 
Which  thou  tak'st  from  me.  When  thou  cam'st  here  first, 
Thou  strok'dst  me,  and  mad'st  much  of  me ;  would'st 

give  me 

Water  with  berries'  in 't ;  and  teach  me  how 
To  name  the  bigger  light,  and  how  the  less, 
That  burn  by  day  and  night :  and  then  I  lov'd  thee, 
And  show'd  thee  all  the  qualities  o'  th'  isle, 
The  fresh  springs,  brine  pits,  barren  place,  and  fertile 
Cursed  be  I  that  did  so  ! — All  the  charms 
Of  Sycorax,  toads,  beetles,  bats,  light  on  you  ; 
For  I  am  all  the  subjects  that  you  have, 
Which  first  was  mine  own  king  :  and  here  you  sty  me 
In  this  hard  rock,  whiles  you  do  keep  from  me 
The  rest  o'  th'  island. 

Pro.  Thou  most  lying  slave, 

Whom  f-tripcs  may  move,  not  kindness,  I  have  us'd  thee 
Filth  as  thou  art,  with  human  care ;  and  lodg'cl  thee 
1  honoy-conib  :  in  f.  e 


SO.  II.  THE    TEMPEST.  21 

In  mine  own  cell,  till  thou  didst  seek  to  violate 
The  honour  of  my  child. 

Cal.  O  ho  !  0  ho ! — would  it  had  bcfen  done ! 
Thou  didst  prevent  me ;  I  had  peopled  else 
This  isle  with  Calibans. 

Pro.  Abhorred  slave, 

Which  any  print  of  goodness  will  not  take, 
Being  capable  of  all  ill !     I  pitied  thee, 
Took  pains  to  make  thee  speak,  taught  thee  each  hour 
One  thing  or  other :  when  thou  didst  not,  savage, 
Know  thine  own  meaning,  but  would'st  gabble  like 
A  thing  most  brutish,  I  endow'd  thy  purposes 
With  words  that  made  them  known :  but  thy  vile  race, 
Though  thou  didst  learn,  had  that  in't  which  good  natures 
Could  not  abide  to  be  with  :  therefore  wast  thou 
Deservedly  confin'd  into  this  rock, 
Who  hadst  deserv'd  more  than  a  prison. 

Cal.  You  taught  me  language ;  and  my  profit  on't 
Is,  I  know  how  to  curse.     The  red  plague  rid  you, 
For  learning  me  your  language  ! 

Pro.  Hag-seed,  hence ! 

Fetch  us  in  fuel ;  and  be  quick,  thou'rt  best, 
To  answer  other  business.     Shrug'st  thou,  malice  ? 
If  thou  neglect'st,  or  dost  unwillingly 
What  I  command,  I'll  rack  thee  with  old  cramps; 
Fill  all  thy  bones  with  aches  ;  make  thee  roar, 
That  beasts  shall  tremble  at  thy  din. 

Cal.  No,  pray  thee  ! — 

I  must  obey  •  his  art  is  of  such  power,  [ Aside. 

It  would  control  my  dam's  god,  Setebos, 
And  make  a  vassal  of  him. 

Pro.  So,  slave;  hence!  [Exit  CALIBAN. 

Re-enter  ARIEL,  invisible,  playing  and  singing  ;  FERDI- 
NAND following.1 
ARIEL'S  Song. 
Come  unto  these  yellmo  sands, 

And  then  take  hands : 
Cwrt'sied  when  you  have,  and  kissed 

The  ivild  waves  whist, 
Foot  itfeatly  here  and  there;* 

i  f.  e.  have  "him."  *  The  old  copies  read  :  "  Foot  it  featly  hert 
and  there,  and  sweet  sprites  bear  the  burden."  The  MS.  annotator 
of  the  folio  of  1632,  anticipated  later  critics  in  altering  the  passage 
as  it  stands  in  the  text 

VOL.    I.  16 


22  THK    TEMPEST.  ACT  I. 

And,  sweet  sprites,  the.  burden  bear. 

Hark,  hark ! 
Burden.     Bow,  wow.  [Dispersed  ly. 

The  watch  dogs  bark  : 
Burden.     Bow.  wow. 

Hark,  hark  !     I  hear 
The  strain  of  strutting  chanticlere 
Cry,  cock-a-doodle-doo.  [earth?-- 

Fer.  Where  should  this  music  be  ?  i'  th'  air,  or  th' 
It  sounds  no  more ; — and  sure,  it  waits  upon 
Some  god  o'  th'  island.     Sitting  on  a  bank, 
Weeping  again  the  king  my  father's  wreck, 
This  music  crept  by  me  upon  the  waters, 
Allaying  both  their  fury,  and  my  passion. 
With  its  sweet  air :  thence  I  have  follow'd  it, 
Or  it  hath  drawn  me  rather : — but  'tis  gone. — 
No,  it  begins  again. 

ARIEL  sings. 

Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies  ; 
Of  his  bones  are  coral  made  j 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes : 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell  : 


J  Burden:  ding-dong 
ing- 


Hark  !  now  I  hear  them, — ding-dong,  bell. 
Fer.  The  ditty  does  remember  my  drown'd  father. — 
This  is  no  mortal  business,  nor  no  sound 
That  the  earth  owes1 — I  hear  it  now  above  me. 

[Music  above* 

Pro.  The  fringed  curtains  of  thine  eye  advance 
And  say,  what  thou  seest  yond'. 

Mm.  What  is 't  ?  a  spirit  ? 

Lord,  how  it  looks  about !     Believe  me,  sir, 
It  carries  a  brave  form  : — but  'tis  a  spirit. 

Pro.  No.  wench  :  it  eats,  and  sleeps,  and  hath  such 

senses 

As  we  have ;  such.     This  gallant,,  which  thou  seest, 
Was  in  the  wreck ;  and  but  he's  something  stain'd 
With  grief,  that's  beauty's  canker,  thou  might'st  call  him 
A  goodly  person.     He  hath  lost  his  fellows, 
And  strays  about  to  find  'em. 

i  Owns.    »Not  in  f.  e 


SC.  II.  THE    T1CMPEST.  3d 

Mira.  I  might  call  him 

A  thing  divine,  for  nothing  natural 
I  ever  saw  so  noble. 

Pro.  It  goes  on,  I  see,  {Aside. 

As  my  soul  prompts  it: — Spirit,  fine  spirit !  I'll  free  thee 
Within  two  days  for  this. 

Fer.  Most  sure,  the  goddess  [Seeing  her.- 

On  whom  these  airs  attend  ! — Vouchsafe,  my  prayer 
May  know  if  you  remain  upon  this  island,      [Kneels. 
And  that  you  will  some  good  instruction  give, 
How  I  may  bear  me  here :  my  prime  request, 
Which  I  do  last  pronounce,  is,  0  you  wonder  ! 
If  you  be  maid,  or  no  ? 

Mira.  No  wonder,  sir ; 

But,  certainly  a  maid. 

Fer.  My  language  !  heavens ! — Rises* 

I  am  the  best  of  them  that  speak  this  speech, 
Were  I  but  where  'tis  spoken. 

Pro.  How!  the  best? 

What  wert  thou,  if  the  king  of  Naples  heard  thee  ? 

Fer.  A  single  thing,  as  I  am  now,  that  wonders 
To  hear  thee  speak  of  Naples.     He  does  hear  me, 
And  that  he  does  I  weep ;  myself  am  Naples  ; 
Who  with  mine  eyes,  ne'er  since  at  ebb,  beheld 
The  king,  my  father,  wre  jk'd. 

Mira.  Alack,  for  mercy ! 

Fer.  Yes.  faith,  and  all  his  lords;  the  duke  of  Milan, 
And  his  brave  son,  being  twain. 

Pro.  The  duke  of  Milan. 

And  his  more  braver  daughter,  could  control  thee, 
If  now  'twere  fit  to  do't. — [Jswfe.]  At  the  first  sight 
They  have  chang'd  eyes : — -delicate  Ariel, 
I'll  set  thee  free  for  this  ! — [To  him.]  A  word,  good  sir 
I  fear,  you  have  done  yourself  some  wrong :  a  word. 

Mira.  Why  speaks  my  father  so  ungently?     This 
Is  the  third  man  that  e'er  I  saw ;  the  first 
That  e'er  I  sigh'd  for.     Pity  move  my  father 
To  be  inclin'd  my  way  ! 

Fer.  0  !  if  a  virgin, 

And  your  affection  not  gone  forth,  I'll  make  you 
The  queen  of  Naples. 

Pro.  Soft,  sir :  one  word  more. — 

iNotinf.e.    »  Not  in  f.  e.    '  Not  in  f.  e. 


24  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  I. 

[Aside.]  They  are  both  in  either's  powen  :  but  this 

swift  business 

I  must  uneasy  make,  lest  too  light  winning 
Make  the  prize  light. — [To  him.]  One  word  more:  1 

charge  thee, 

That  thou  attend  me,     Thou  dost  here  usurp 
The  name  thou  ow'st  not ;  and  hast  put  thyself 
Upon  this  island  as  a  spy,  to  win  it 
From  me,  the  lord  on't. 

Fer.  No.  as  I  am  a  man, 

Mira.  There's  nothing  ill  can  dwell  in  such  a  temple : 
It  the  ill  spirit  have  so  fair  a  house,    , 
Good  things  will  strive  to  dwell  with 't. 

Pro.  Follow  me. —  [To  FERD. 

Speak  not  you  for  him ;  he's  a  traitor. — Come. 
I'll  manacle  thy  neck  and  feet  together ; 
Sea-water  shalt  thou  drink,  thy  food  shall  be 
The  fresh-brook  muscles,  wither'd  roots,  and  husks 
Wherein  the  acorn  cradled.     Follow. 

Fer.  No; 

I  will  resist  such  entertainment,  till 
Mine  enemy  has  more  power. 

[He  draws,  and  is  charmed  from  moving. 

Mira.  0,  dear  father ! 

Make  not  too  rash  a  trial  of  him,  for 
He's  gentle,  and  not  fearful. 

Pro.  What !  I  say : 

My  foot  my  tutor  ? — Put  thy  sword  up,  traitor ; 
Whomak'st  a  show,  but  dar'st  not  strike,  thy  conscience 
Is  so  possess'd  with  guilt :  Come  from  thy  ward, 
For  I  can  here  disarm  thee  with  this  stick, 
And  make  thy  weapon  drop. 

Mira.  Beseech  you,  father ! 

Pro.  Hence  !  hang  not  on  my  garments. 

Mira.  Sir,  have  pity 

1 11  be  his  surety. 

Pr:-  Silence  !  one  word  more 

Shall  make  me  chide  thee,  if  not  hate  thee.     What ! 
An  advocate  for  an  impostor?  hush! 
Thou  think'st  there  are  no  more  such  shapes  as  he, 
Having  seen  but  him  and  Caliban :  foolish  wench  ! 
To  the  most  of  men  this  is  a  Caliban, 
And  they  to  him  are  angels. 

Mira  My  affections 


SC.  I.  THE    TEMPEST.  25 

Are  then  most  humble  :  I  have  no  ambition 
To  see  a  goodlier  man. 

Pro.  Come  on;  obey:     [To  FKRD. 

Thy  nerves  are  in  their  infancy  again, 
And  have  no  vigour  in  them. 

For.  So  they  are  : 

My  spirits,  as  in  a  dream,  are  all  bound  up. 
My  father's  loss,  the  weakness  which  I  feel, 
The  wreck  of  all  my  friends,  nor  this  man's  threats, 
To  whom  I  am  subdued,  are  but  light  to  me, 
Might  I  but  through  my  prison  once  a  day 
Behold  this  maid  :  all  corners  else  o'  th'  earth 
Let  liberty  make  use  of;  space  enough 
Have  I  in  such  a  prison. 

Pro.  It  works. — Come  on. — 

Thou  hast  done  well,  fine  Ariel ! — Follow  me. — 

[To  FERD.  and  MIR. 
Hark,  what  thou  else  shalt  do  me.  [To  ARIEL. 

Mira.  Be  of  comfort. 

My  father's  of  a  better  nature,  sir, 
Than  he  appears  by  speech  :  this  is  unwonted, 
Which  now  came  from  him. 

Pro.  Thou  shalt  be  as  free 

As  mountain  winds :  but  then,  exactly  do 
All  points  of  my  command. 

Ari.  To  the  syllable. 

Pro.  Come,  follow. — Speak  not  for  him.       [Exeunt 


ACT  IT. 

SCENE  I.— Another  part  of  the  Island. 
Enter  ALONSO,  SEBASTIAN,  ANTONIO,  GONZALO, 

ADRIAN,  FRANCISCO  and  Others. 
Gon.  Beseech  you.  sir,  be  merry :  you  have  cause 
(So  have  we  all)  of  joy,  for  our  escape 
(s  much  beyond  our  loss.     Our  hint  of  woe 
Is  common :  every  day.  some  sailor's  wife, 
The  master1  of  some  merchant,  and  the  merchant, 
Have  just  our  theme  of  woe ;  but  for  the  miracle, 
I  mean  our  preservation,  few  in  millions 
Can  speak  like  us :  then,  wisely,  good  sir,  weigh 
Our  sorrow  with  our  comfort. 

1  masters  :  in  f.  e. 


26  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  H 

Aim.  Pr'ythee,  peace. 

Seb.  He  receives  comfort  like  cold  porridge. 

Ant.  The  visitor  will  not  give  him  o'er  so. 

Seb.  Look  •  he's  winding  up  the  watch  of  his  wit 
>y  and  by  it  will  strike. 

Gon.  Sir, — 

Seb.  One:— tell. 

Gon.  When  every  grief  is  entertain'd.  that's  ofler'd, 
Comes  to  the  entertainer — 

Seb.  A  dollar. 

Gon.  Dolour  comes  to  him,  indeed:  you  have  spoken 
truer  than  you  purposed. 

Seb.  You  have  taken  it  wiselier  than  I  meant  you 
should. 

Gon.  Therefore,  my  lord, 

Ant.  Fie,  what  a  spendthrift  is  he  of  his  tongue ! 

Alan.  I  pr'ythee,  spare. 

Gon.  Well,  I  have  done.     But  yet — 

Seb.  He  will  be  talking. 

Ant.  Which,  or1  he  or  Adrian,  for  a  good  wager, 
first  begins  to  crow? 

Seb.  The  old  cock. 

Ant.  The  cockrel. 

Seb.  Done.     The  wager? 

Ant.  A  1  auditor. 

Seb.  A  match. 

Adr.  Though  this  island  seem  to  be  desert, — 

Seb.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Ant.  So,  you're  paid. 

Adr.  Uninhabitable,  and  almost  inaccessible, — 

Seb.  Yet— 

Adr.  Yet— 

Ant.  He  could  not  miss  it. 

Adr.  It  must  needs  be  of  subtle,  tender,  and  delicate 
temperance. 

Ant.  Temperance  was  a  delicate  wench. 

Seb.  Ay,  and  a  subtle,  as  he  most  learnedly  delivered. 

Adr.  The  air  breathes  upon  us  here  most  sweetly. 

Seb.  As  if  it  had  lungs,  and  rotten  ones. 

Ant.  Or  as  'twere  perfumed  by  a  fen. 

Gon.  Here  is  every  thing  advantageous  to  life. 

Ant.  True;  save  means  to  live. 

Seb.  Of  that  therj's  none,  or  little. 

>  of  them  :  in  f.  e       Knight  s  edition  reads,  "  of  them." 


8C.  I.  THE    TEMPEST.  Z I 

Gon.  How  lush1  and  lusty  the  grass  looks  !  how  green ' 

Ant.  The  ground,  indeed,  is  tawny. 

Seb.  With  an  e^e2  of  green  in  Jt. 

Ant.  He  misses  not  much. 

Seb.  No;  he  doth  but  mistake  the  truth  totally. 

Gon.  But  the  rarity  of  it  is,  which  is  indeed  almost 
beyond  credit — 

Seb.  As  many  vouch'd  rarities  are. 

Gon.  That  our  garments,  being,  as  they  were, 
drenched  in  the  sea,  hold,  notwithstanding,  their  fresh- 
ness, and  glosses ;  being  rather  new  dyed,  than  stain'd 
with  salt  water. 

Ant.  If  but  one  of  his  pockets  could  speak,  would  it 
not  say,  he  lies  ? 

Seb.  Ay,  or  very  falsely  pocket  up  his  report. 

Gon.  Methinks,  our  garments  are  now  as  fresh  as 
when  we  put  them  on  first  in  Afric,  at  the  marriage  of 
the  king's  fair  daughter  Claribel  to  the  king  of  Tunis. 
,  Seb.  'Twas  a  sweet  marriage,  and  we  prosper  •«  ell 
in  our  return. 

Adr.  Tunis  was  never  graced  before  with  such  a 
paragon  to  their  queen. 

Gon.  Not  since  widow  Dido's  time. 

Ant.  Widow  ?  a  pox  o'  that !  How  came  that  widow 
in?  Widow  Dido! 

Seb.  What  if  he  had  said,  widower  ^Eneas  too?  good 
lord,  how  you  take  it ! 

Adr.  Widow  Dido,  said  you  !  you  make  me  study  of 
that :  she  was  of  Carthage,  not  of  Tunis. 

Gon.  This  Tunis,  sir,  was  Carthage. 

Adr.  Carthage? 

Gon.  I  assure  you,  Carthage. 

Ant.  His  word  is  more  than  the  miraculous  harp. 

Seb.  He  hath  rais'd  the  wall,  and  houses  too. 

Ant.  What  impossible  matter  will  he  make  easy  next  ? 

Seb.  I  think  he  will  carry  this  island  home  in  MB 
pocket,  and  give  it  his  son  for  an  apple. 

Ant.  And  sowing  the  kernels  of  it  in  the  sea,  bring 
forth  more  islands. 

Gon.  Ay? 

Ant.  Wliy,  in  good  time. 

Gon.  Sir,  we  were  talking,  that  our  garments  seem 
now  as  fresh,  as  when  we  were  at  Tunis  at  the  mar- 

«  Jvicy.     2  Slight  shade  of  color. 


28  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  II. 

riage  of  your  daughter,  who  is  now  queen. 

Ant.  And  the  rarest  that  e'er  came  there. 

Seb.  Bate,  I  beseech  you,  widow  Dido. 

Ant.  0 !  widow  Dido ;  ay,  widow  Dido. 

Gon.  Is  not,  sir,  my  doublet  as  fresh  as  the  first  day 
I  wore  it?     I  maan,  in  a  sort. 

Ant.  That  sort  was  well  fish'd  for. 

Gon.  When  I  wore  it  at  your  daughter's  marriage  ? 

Alon.  You  cram  these  words  into  mine  ears,  against 
The  stomach  of  my  sense.     Would  I  had  never 
Married  my  daughter  there  !  for,  coming  thence, 
My  son  is  lost ;  and,  in  my  rate,  she  too, 
Who  is  so  far  from  Italy  remov'd, 
I  ne'er  again  shall  see  her.     0  thou.  mine  h'eir 
Of  Naples  and  of  Milan  !  what  strange  fish 
Hath  made  his  meal  on  thee  ? 

Fran.  Sir,  he  may  live. 

I  saw  him  beat  the  surges  under  him, 
And  ride  upon  their  backs :  he  trod  the  water, 
Whose  enmity  he  flung  aside,  and  breasted 
The  surge  most  swoln  that  met  him :  his  bold  head 
'Bove  the  contentious  waves  he  kept,  and  oar'd 
Himself  with  his  good  arms  in  lusty  stroke 
To  the  shore,  that  o'er  his  wave- worn  basis  bow'd, 
As  stooping  to  relieve  him.     I  not  doubt, 
He  came  alive  to  land. 

Aim.  No,  no ;  he's  gone. 

Seb.  Sir,  you  may  thank  yourself  for  this  great  loss 
That  would  not  bless  our  Europe  with  your  daughter, 
But  rather  lose  her  to  an  African ; 
Where  she,  at  least,  is  banish'd  from  your  eye, 
Who  hath  cause  to  wet  the  grief  on  ;t. 

Alon.  Pr'ythoe,  peace. 

Seb.  You  were  kneel'd  to,  and  importun'd  otherwise 
By  all  of  us  :  and  the  fair  soul  herself 
Weigh'd  between  lothness  and  obedience,  as1 
Which  end  o'  the  beam  should"  bow.     We  have  Jost 

your  son. 

If  ear,  for  ever :  Milan  and  Naples  have 
More  widows  in  them,  of  this  business'  making, 
Than  we  bring  men  to  comfort  them :  the  fault '» 
Vour  own. 

Alon    So  is  the  dearest  of  the  loss. 

'at:  inf.  e.    *  She'd  :  inf.e. 


THE    TEMPEST.  29 

Gem.  My  lord  Sebastian, 

The  truth  you  speak  doth  lack  some  gentleness, 
And  time  to  speak  it  in :  you  rub  the  sore, 
When  you  should  bring  the  plaster. 

Seb.  Very  well. 

Ant.  And  most  chirurgeonly. 

Gon.  It  is  foul  weather  in  us  all,  good  sir, 
When  j  ou  are  cloudy. 

Seb. '  Foul  weather? 

Ant.  Very  foul. 

Gon,  Had  I  plantation  of  this  isle,  my  lord, — 

Ant.  He'd  sow  't  with  neddle-seed. 

Seb.  Or  docks,  or  mallows 

Gon.  And  were  the  king  on't,  what  would  I  do? 

Seb.  'Scape  being  drunk,  for  want  of  wine. 

Gon.  P  the  commonwealth  I  would  by  contraries 
Execute  all  things,  for  no  kind  of  traffic 
Would  I  admit ;'  no  name  of  magistrate ; 
.Letters  should  not  be  known ;  riches,  poverty, 
And  use  of  service,  none ;  contract,  succession, 
Bourn,  bound  of  land,  tilth,  vineyard,  none ; 
No  use  of  metal,  corn,  or  wine,  or  oil : 
No  occupation,  all  men  idle,  all ; 
And  women,  too,  but  innocent  and  pure. 
No  sovereignty : — 

Seb.  Yet  he  would  be  king  on't. 

Ant.  The  latter  end  of  this  commonwealth  forgets 
the  beginning. 

Gon.  All  things  in  common  nature  should  produce, 
Without  sweat  or  endeavour :  treason,  felony, 
Sword,  pike,  knife,  gun,  or  need  of  any  engine, 
Would  I  not  have ;  but  nature  should  bring  forth, 
Of  its  own  kind,  all  foisson,2  all  abundance, 
To  feed  my  innocent  people. 

Seb.  No  marrying  'mong  his  subjects  ? 

Ant.  None,  man ;  all  idle ;  whores,  and  knaves. 

Gon.  I  would  with  such  perfection  govern,  sir, 

1  It  is  a  nation,  would  I  answer  Plato,  that  hath  no  kinde  of  tralfike, 
no  knowledge  of  Letters,  no  intelligence  of  numbers,  no  name  of 
magistrate,  nor  of  politike  superioritie  ;  no  use  of  service,  of  riches, 
•r  of  povertie  j  no  contracts,  no  successions,  no  dividences,  no  oc- 
cupation but  idle  ;  no  respect,  of  kinred,  but  common,  no  apparel 
but  natural!,  no  manuring  of  lands,  no  use  of  wine,  come,  or  mettle. 
The  very  that  import  lying,  falshood,  treason,  dissimulations,  covet- 
ousnns,  envie,  detraction,  and  pardon,  were  never  heard  of  amongs' 
them.— Montaigne.  Florio's  translation,  1603.  »  Plenty. 


30  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  H. 

To  excel  the  golden  age. 

Seb.  'Save  his  majesty ! 

Ant .  Long  live  Gonzalo ! 

Gon.  And,  do  you  mark  me,  sir  ?— 

Alon.  Pr'ythee,  no  more :  thou  dost  talk  nothing  to 
me. 

Gon.  I  do  well  believe  your  highness ;  and  did  it  tc 
minister  occasion  to  these  gentlemen,  who  are  of  such 
sensible  and  nimble  lungs,  that  they  always  use  to 
laugh  at  nothing. 

Ant.  ;Twas  you  we  laugh'd  at. 

Gon.  Who,  in  this  kind  of  merry  fooling,  am  nothing 
to  you:  so  you  may  continue,  and  laugh  at  nothing 
still. 

Ant.  What  a  blow  was  there  given ! 

Seb.  An  it  had  not  fallen  flat-long. 

Gon.  You  are  gentlemen  of  brave  mettle  :  you  would 
lift  the  moon  out  of  her  sphere,  if  she  would  continue 
in  it  five  weeks  without  changing. 

Enter  ARIEL  above,1  invisible,  playing  solemn  music, 

Seb.  We  would  so,  and  then  go  a  bat-fowling. 

Ant.  Nay.  good  my  lord,  be  not  angry. 

Gon.  No,  I  warrant  you ;  I  will  not  adventure  my 
discretion  so  weakly.  Will  you  laugh  me  asleep,  for 
I  am  very  heavy? 

Ant.  Go  sleep,  and  hear  us. 

[All  sleep  but  ALON.  SEB.  and  ANT. 

Alon.  What !  all  so  soon  asleep  ?  I  wish  mine  eyes 
Would,  with  themselves,  shut  up  my  thoughts  :  I  find, 
They  are  inclined  to  do  so. 

Seb.  Please  you,  sir, 

Do  not  omit  the  heavy  offer  of  it : 
It  seldom  visits  sorrow ;  when  it  dotk; 
It  is  a  comforter. 

Ant.  We  two,  my  lord, 

Will  guarf  your  person  while  you  take  your  rest, 
And  watch  your  safety. 

Alon.  Thank  you.  Wondrous  heavy. — [ALOIS,  sleeps 

Seb.  What  a  strange  drowsiness  possesses  them  f 

Ant .  It  is  the  quality  of  the  climate. 

Seb.  Why 

Doth  it  not,  then,  our  eye-lids  sink  ?     I  find  not 
Myself  disposed  to  sleep. 

1  Not  in  f  e.    »  Exit  ARIBL  :  in  f.  e     ' 


8C.  I.  THE    TEMPEST.  31 

Ant.  Nor  I :  my  spirits  are  nimble 

They  fell  together  all,  as  by  consent; 
They  dropp'd,  as  by  a  thunder-stroke.    What  might. 
Worthy  Sebastian  ? — O  !  what  might  ? — No  more  :— 
And  yet,  methinks,  I  see  it  in  thy  face, 
What  thou  should'st  be.    Th'  occasion  speaks  thee,  and 
My  strong  imagination  sees  a  crown 
Dropping  upon  thy  head 

Seb.  What!  art  thou  waking ? 

Ant .  Do  you  not  hear  me  speak  ? 

Seb.  I  do ;  and,  surely 

It  is  a  sleepy  language,  and  thou  speak'st 
Out  of  thy  sleep.     What  is  it  thou  didst  say? 
This  is  a  strange  repose,  to  be  asleep 
With  eyes  wide  open ;  standing,  speaking,  moving, 
And  yet  so  fast  asleep. 

Ant.  Noble  Sebastian, 

Thou  let'st  thy  fortune  sleep — die  rather ;  wink'st 
Whiles  thou  art  waking. 

Seb.  Thou  dost  snore  distinctly 

There's  meaning  in  thy  snores. 

Ant.  I  am  more  serious  than  my  custom :  you 
Must  be  so  too,  if  heed  me  •  which  to  do, 
Trebles  thee  o'er. 

Seb.  Well ;  I  am  standing  water. 

Ant.  I'll  teach  you  how  to  flow. 

Seb.  Do  so:  to  ebb 

Hereditary  sloth  instructs  me. 

Ant.     '  0 1 

If  you  but  knew,  how  you  the  purpose  cherish, 
Whiles  thus  you  mock  it !  how,  in  stripping  it, 
You  more  invest  it !     Ebbing  men,  indeed, 
Most  often  do  so  near  the  bottom  run 
By  their  own  fear,  or  sloth. 

Seb.  .  Pr'ythee,  say  on. 

The  setting  of  thine  eye,  and  cheek,  proclaim 
A  matter  from  thee ;  and  a  birth,  indeed, 
Which  throes  thee  much  to  yield. 

Ant.  Thus,  sir, 

Although  this  lord  of  weak  remembrance,  this 
(Who  shall  be  of  as  little  memory, 
When  he  is  earth'd)  hath  here  almost  persuaded 
(For  he's  a  spirit  of  persuasion,  only 
Professes  to  persuade)  the  king,  his  son  's  alive, 


32  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  1JL 

'Tis  as  impossible  that  he  's  undrown'd, 
AB  he  that  sleeps  here,  swims. 

Seb.  I  have  no  hope 
That  he  's  undrown'd. 

Ant .  0 !  out  of  that  no  hope, 

What  great  hope  have  you !  no  hope,  that  way,  in 
Another  way  so  high  a  hope,  that  even 
Ambition  cannot  pierce  a  wink  beyond, 
But  doubts  discovery  there.    Will  you  gran' ,  with  me 
That  Ferdinand  is  drown' d  ? 

Seb.  He 's  gone. 

Ant.  Then,  tell  me; 

Who 's  the  next  heir  of  Naples? 

Seb.  Claribel. 

Ant.  She  that  is  queen  of  Tunis  •  she  that  dwells 
Ten  leagues  beyond  man's  life ;  she  that  from  Naples 
Can  have  no  note,  unless  the  sun  were  post, 
(The  man  i'  the  moon  's  too  slow)  till  new-born  chins 
Be  rough  and  razorable :  she,  for1  whom 
We  all  were  sea-swallow'd,  though  some  cast  again  ; 
And  by  that  destiny  to  perform  an  act 
Whereof  what 's  past  is  prologue,  what  'sa  to  come, 
In  yours  and  my  discharge. 

Seb.  What  stuff  is  this ! — How  say  you  ? 

'Tis  true,  my  brother's  daughter  's  queen  of  Tunis; 
So  is  she  heir  of  Naples;  'twixt  which  regions 
There  is  some  space. 

Ant.  A  space  whose  every  cubit 

Seems  to  cry  out,  "  How  shall  that  Claribel 
Measure  us  back  to  Naples?" — Keep  in  Tunis, 
And  let  Sebastian  wake ! — Say,  this  were  death 
That  now  hath  seized  them ;  why.  they  were  no  worse 
Than  now  they  are.     There  be,  that  can  rule  Naples 
As  well  as  he  that  sleeps ;  lords  that  can  prate 
As  amply,  and  unnecessarily, 
As  this  Gonzalo ;  I  myself  could  make 
A.  cliough  of  as  deep  chat.     O,  that  you  bore 
The  mind  that  I  do !  what  a  sleep  were  this 
For  your  advancement !     Do  you  understand  me  ? 

Seb.  Methinks,  I  do. 

dnt.  And  how  does  your  content 

Tender  your  own  good  fortune? 

Seb-  I  remember, 

1  from  :  in  f.  e.     "  what :  in  f.  e. 


THE    TEMPEST. 


33 


You  did  supplant  your  brother  Prospero. 

Ant.  True : 

And  look  how  well  my  garments  sit  upon  me ; 
Much  feater  than  before.     My  brother's  servants 
Were  then  my  fellows,  now  they  are  my  men. 

Seb.  But,  for  your  conscience — 

Ant .  Ay.  sir :  where  lies  that  ?  if  it  were  a  kybe, 
'T  would  put  me  to  my  slipper ;  but  I  feel  not 
This  deity  in  my  bosom :  twenty  consciences, 
That  stand  'twixt  me  and  Milan,  candied  be  they, 
And  melt,  ere  they  molest !     Here  lies  your  brother, 
No  better  than  the  earth  he  lies  upon, 
If  he  were  that  which  now  he  's  like,  that 's  dead, 
Whom  I,  with  this  obedient  steel,  three  inches  of  it, 
Can  lay  to  bed  for  ever ;  whiles  you,  doing  thus, 
To  the  perpetual  wink  for  aye  might  put 
'This  ancient  morsel,  this  Sir  Prudence,  who 
Should  not  upbraid  our  course :  for  all  the  rest, 
They  ''11  take  suggestion  as  a  cat  laps  milk ; 
They  '11  tell  the  clock  to  any  business  that 
We  say  befits  the  hour. 

Seb.  Thy  case,  dear  friend, 

Shall  be  my  precedent :  as  thou  got'st  Milan, 
I  '11  come  by  Naples.     Draw  thy  sword  :  one  stroke 
Shall  free  thee  from  the  tribute  which  thou  pay'st, 
And  I,  the  king,  shall  love  thee. 

Ant .  Draw  together : 

And  when  I  rear  my  hand,  do  you  the  like, 
To  fall  it  on  Gonzalo. 

Seb.  O  !  but  one  word.      [They  converse  apart. 

Music.     ARIEL  descends  invisible.1 

Ari.  My  master  through  his  art  foresees  the  dangei 
That  you,  his  friend,  are  in ;  and  sends  me  forth 
(For  else  his  project  dies)  to  keep  them  living. 

[Sings  in  GONZALO'S  ear 
While  you  here  do  snoring  lie} 
Open-eyed  conspiracy 

His  time  doth  take. 
If  of  life  you  keep  a  care. 
Shake  off  slumber,  and  beware  : 
Awake !  Awake  ! 

Ant.  Then,  let  us  both  be  sudden. 

»  Music.    Re-enter  ARIEL,  invisii  le  :  in  f..e. 


34  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  TJ. 

Gon.  Now,  good  angels,  preserve  the  king  ! 

[They  wake. 

Alon.  Why,  how  now,  ho  !  awake  !     Why  are  vou 

drawn? 
Wherefore  thus1  ghastly  looking  ? 

Gon.  What 's  the  matv  r? 

Seb.  Whiles  we  stood  here  securing  your  repose, 
Even  now,  we  heard  a  hollow  burst  of  bellowing, 
Like  bulls,  or  rather  lions :  did  it  not  wake  you  ? 
It  struck  mine  ear  most  terribly. 

Alon.  I  heard  nothing. 

Ant.  0  !  't  was  a  din  to  fright  a  monster's  ear, 
To  make  an  earthquake :  sure,  it  was  the  roar 
Of  a  whole  herd  of  lions. 

Alon.  Heard  you  this,  Gonzalo? 

Gon.  Upon  mine  honour,  sir,  I  heard  a  humming, 
And  that  a  strange  one  too,  which  did  awake  me. 
I  shak'd  you,  sir,  and  cry'd  :  as  mine  eyes  open'd, 
I  saw  their  weapons  drawn. — There  was  a  noise, 
That's  verity :*  'tis  best  we  stand  upon  our  guard, 
Or  that  we  quit  this  place.     Let 's  draw  our  weapons. 

Alon.  Lead  off  this  ground,  and  let 's  make  farther 

search 
For  my  poor  son. 

Gon.  Heavens  keep  him  from  these  beasts, 
For  he  is,  sure,  i'  the  island. 

Alon.  Lead  away.     [Exeunt. 

Ari.  Prospero,  my  lord,  shall  know  what  I  have  done : 
So,  king,  go  safely  on  to  seek  thy  son.  \Exit. 

SCENE  II.— Another  part  of  the  Island. 
Enter  CALIBAN,  with  a  burden  of  wood. 

A  noise  of  thunder  heard. 
Col.  All  the  infections  that  the  sun  sucks  up 
From  bogs,  fens,  flats,  on  Prosper  fall,  and  make  him 
By  inch-meal  a  disease !     His  spirits  hear  me, 
And  yet  I  needs  must  curse ;  but  they  '11  not3  pinch, 
Fright  me  with  urchin  shows,  pitch  me  i'  the  *nire, 
Nor  lead  me,  like  a  fire-brand,  in  the  dark 
Out  of  my  way,  unless  he  bid  'em ;  but 
For  every  trifle  are  they  set  upon  me  : 
Sometime  like  apes,  that  moe  and  chatter  at  me, 

'this  :  in  f.  e.    a  Collier's  ed..  1844,  reads,  "  verily  "—most  of  the 
other  editions, "  verity,"  as  in  the  text.    •*  nor  :  in  f.  e 


SC.  II.  THE    TEMPEST.  35 

And  after,  "bite  me :  then  like  hedge-hogs,  which 
Lie  tumbling  in  my  bare-foot  way,  and  mount 
Their  pricks  at  my  foot-fall :  sometime  am  I 
All  wound  with  adders,  who  with  cloven  tongues 
Do  hiss  me  into  madness. — Lo,  now  !  lo  ! 

Enter  TRINCULO. 

Here  comes  a  spirit  of  his,  and  to  torment  me 
lor  bringing  wood  in  slowly:  I'll  fall  flat; 
Perchance,  he  will  not  mind  me. 

Trin.  Here's  neither  bush  nor  shrub  to  bear  off  any 
weather  at  all,  and  another  storm  brewing;  I  hear  it 
sing  i'  the  wind :  yoiid'  same  black  cloud,  yond'  huge 
one,  looks  like  a  foul  bombard1  that  would  'shed  hi* 
liquor.  If  it  should  thunder,  as  it  did  before,  I  kno-w 
not  where  to  hide  my  head :  yond'  same  cloud  canno* 
choose  but  fall  by  pailfuls. — What  have  we  here? 
[Seeing  Caliban.*]  a  man  or  a  fish?  Dead  or  alive! 
A  fish :  he  smells  like  a  fish ;  a  very  ancient  and  fish 
like  smell;  a  kind  of,  not  of  the  newest,  Poor- John 
A  strange  fish !  Were  I  in  England  now,  (as  once  ) 
was)  and  had  but  this  fish  painted,  not  a  holiday 
fool  there  but  would  give  a  piece  of  silver :  therr 
would  this  monster  make  a  man  :  any  strange  beast 
there  makes  a  man.  When  they  will  not  give  a  doit 
to  relieve  a  lame  beggar,  they  will  lay  out  ten  to  see 
a  dead  Indian.  Legg'd  like  a  man !  and  his  fins  like 
arms  !  Warm,  o'  my  troth !  I  do  now  let  loose  my 
opinion,  hold  it  no  longer;  this  is  no  fish,  but  an 
islander,  that  hath  lately  suffered  by  a  thunder-bolt. 
[Thund.er.]  Alas  !  the  storm  is  come  again :  my  best 
way  is  to  creep  under  his  gaberdine ;  there  is  no  other 
shelter  hereabout :  misery  acquaints  a  man  with  strange 
bedfellows.  I  will  here  shroud,  till  the  drench3  of  the 
Btorm  be  past. 

Enter  STEPHANO,  singing  ;  a  bottle  in  his  hand. 

Ste.  I  shall  no  more  to  sea,  to  sea, 

Here  shall  I  die  a-shore. — 

This  is  a  v  sry  scurvy  tune  to  sing  at  a  man's  funeral. 
Well,  here's  my  comfort.  [Drinks 

The  master,  the  swabber,  the  boatswain,  and  I, 
The  gunner,  and  his  mate, 

Lovjd  Mall,  Meg,  and  Marian,  and  Margery, 

i  The  name  ot  a  large  vessel  to  contain  drink,  as  well  as  of  a  pec« 
»f  artillery.  "  Not  in  f.  e.  3  dregs  :  in  f.  e. 


30  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  H. 

But  none  of  us  car 'd  for  Kate  , 
For  she  had  a  tongue  with  a  tang, 
Would  cry  to  a  sailor,  Go,  hang  : 

She  lov'd  not  the  savour  of  tar,  nor  of  pitch, 

Yet  a  tailor  might  scratch  her  u'herc-e'er  she  did  itch  • 

Then,  to  sea,  boys,  and  let  her  go  hang. 
This  is  a  scurvy  tune  too ;  but  here's  my  comfort.  [Drinks. 

Cal.  Do  not  torment  me :  0  ! 

Ste.  What's  the  matter?  Have  we  devils  here? 
Do  you  put  tricks  upon  us  with  savages,  and  men  of 
Inde?  Ha!  I  have  not  'scap'd  drowning,  to  be  afeard 
now  of  your  four  legs ;  for  it  hath  been  said,  as  proper 
a  man  as  ever  went  on  four  legs  cannot  make  him  give 
ground,  and  it  shall  be  said  so  again,  while  Stephano 
breathes  at  nostrils. 

Cal.  The  spirit  torments  me :  0 ! 

Ste.  This  is  some  monster  of  the  isle,  with  four  legs, 
who  hath  got,  as  I  take  it,  an  ague.  Where  the  devil 
should  he  learn  our  language?  I  will  give  him  some 
relief,  if  it  be  but  for  that :  if  I  can  recover  him,  and  keep 
him  tame,  and  get.  to  Naples  with  him,  he  's  a  present 
for  any  emperor  that  ever  trod  on  neat's-leather. 

Cal.  Do  not  torment  me,  pr'ythee:  I'll  bring  my 
wood  home  faster. 

Ste.  He  's  in  his  fit  now,  and  does  not  talk  after  the 
wisest.  He  shall  taste  of  my  bottle  :  if  he  have  never 
drunk  wine  afore,  it  will  go  near  to  remove  his  fit.  It 
I  can  recover  him,  and  keep  him  tame.  I  will  not  take 
too  much  for  him :  he  shall  pay  for  him  that  hath  him, 
and  that  soundly. 

Cal.  Thou  dost  me  yet  but  little  hurt;  thou  wilt 
anon,  I  know  it  by  thy  trembling :  now  Prosper  works 
upon  thee. 

Ste.  Come  on  your  ways :  open  your  mouth ;  here  is 
that  which  will  give  language  to  you,  cat.  Open  your 
mouth :  this  will  shake  your  shaking,  I  can  tell  you, 
and  that  soundly :  you  cannot  tell  who  's  your  friend ; 
open  your  chaps  again.  [CALIBAN  drinks.1 

Trin.  I  should  know  that  voice.  It  should  be — but 
he  is  drowned,  and  these  are  devils.  0,  defend  me  ! — 

Ste.  Four  legs,  and   two  voices !  a  most  delicate 
monster.     His  forward  voice,  now,  is  to  speak  well  of 
his  friend ;  his  backward  voice  is  to  utter  foul  speeches, 
»  Not  in  f.  e. 


THE    TEMPEST. 


37 


and  to  detract.  If  all  the  wine  in  my  bottle  will  re- 
cover him,  I  will  help  his  ague.  Come, — Amen !  I 
will  pour  some  in  thy  other  mouth. 

Tiin.  Stephano ! 

See.  Doth  thy  other  mouth  call  me  ?  Mercy ! 
mercy !  This  is  a  devil,  and  no  monster :  I  will  leave 
him ;  I  have  no  long  spoon. 

Trin.  Stephano  ! — if  thou  beest  Stephano,  touch  me, 
and  speak  to  me,  for  I  am  Trinculo : — be  not  afeard,— 
thy  good  friend  Trinculo. 

Ste.  If  thou  beest  Trinculo,  come  forth.  I'll  pull 
thee  by  the  lesser  legs :  if  any  be  Trinculo's  legs,  these 
are  they.  Thou  art  very  Trinculo,  indeed  !  How 
cam'st  thou  to  be  the  siege1  of  this  moon-calf  ?  Can  he 
vent  Trinculos? 

Trin.  I  took  him  to  be  killed  with  a  thunder-stroke. 
— But  art  thou  not  drowned,  Stephano  ?  I  hope  now, 
thou  art  not  drowned.  Is  the  storm  overblown?  I 
hid  me  under  the  dead  moon-calf's  gaberdine  for  fear 
of  the  storm.  And  art  thou  living,  Stephano  ?  O 
Stephano  !  two  Neapolitans  'scaped? 

Ste.  Pr'ythee,  do  not  turn  me  about :  my  stomach  is 
not  constant. 

Cal.  These  be  fine  things,  an  if  they  be  not  sprites. 
That 's  a  brave  god,  and  bears  celestial  liquor  : 
I  will  kneel  to  him. 

Ste.  How  didst  thou  'scape  ?  How  cam'st  thou 
hither  ?  swear  by  this  bottle,  how  thou  cam'st  hither. 
I  escaped  upon  a  butt  of  sack,  which  the  sailors  heaved 
over-board,  by  this  bottle !  which  I  made  of  the  bark 
of  a  tree,  with  mine  own  hands,  since  I  was  cast 
a-shore. 

Cal.  1  '11  swear,  upon  that  bottle,  to  be  thy  true 
subject,  for  the  liquor  is  not  earthly.  [Kneels* 

Ste.  Here  :  swear,  then,  how  thou  escap'dst. 

Trin.  Swam  a-shore,  man.  like  a  duck.  I  can  swim 
like  a  duck,  I  '11'  be  sworn. 

Ste.  Here,  kiss  the  book.  Though  thou  canst  swim 
like  a  duck,  thou  art  made  like  a  goose. 

Trin.  0  Stephano  !  hast  anymore  of  this? 

Ste.  The  whole  butt,  man :  my  cellar  is  in  a  rock  by 
the  sea-side,  where  my  wine  is  hid.  How  now,  moon 
calf  !  how  does  thine  ague  ? 

i  seat.    »  Not  in  f.  e. 


38  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  II. 

Cal.  Hast  thou  not  dropped  from  heaven  ? 

Ste.  Out  o'  the  moon,  I  do  assure  thee :  I  was  the 
man  in  the  moon,  when  time  was. 

Cal.  I  have  seen  thee  in  her,  and  I  do  adore  thee  :  my 
mistress  showed  me  thee,  and  thy  dog,  and  thy  bush. 

Ste.  Come,  swear  to  that ;  kiss  the  book :  I  will  fur- 
nish it  anon  with  new  contents.  Swear. 

Trin.  By  this  good  light,  this  is  a  very  shallow  mon- 
ster : — I  afeard  of  him  ? — a  very  weak  monster. — The 
man  i'  the  moon  ! — a  most  poor  credulous  monster.— 
Well  drawn,  monster,  in  good  sooth. 

Cal.  I  '11  show  thee  every  fertile  inch  o'  the  island ; 
and  I  will  kiss  thy  foot.  I  pr'ythee,  be  my  god. 

Trin.  By  this  light,  a  most  perfidious  and  drunken 
monster :  when  his  god  's  asleep,  he  '11  rob  his  bottle. 

Cal.  I  '11  kiss  thy  foot :  T  '11  swear  myself  thy  subject. 

Ste.  Come  on,  then ;  down  and  swear. 

[CALIBAN  lies  down.1 

Trin.  I  shall  laugh  myself  to  death  at  this  puppy- 
headed  monster.  A  most  scurvy  monster :  I  could  find 
in  my  heart  to  beat  him, — 

Ste.  Come,  kiss. 

Trin.  — But  that  the  poor  monster 's  in  drink.  An 
abominable  monster  ! 

Cal.  I  '11  show  thee  the  best  springs ;  T  '11  pluck  thee 

berries ; 

I  '11  fish  for  thee,  and  get  thee  wood  enough. 
A  plague  upon  the  tyrant  that  I  serve  ! 
I  '11  bear  him  no  more  sticks,  but  follow  thee, 
Thou  wondrous  man. 

Trin.  A  most  ridiculous  monster,  to  make  a  wonder 
of  a  poor  drunkard  ! 

Cal.  I  pr'ythee,  let  me  bring  thee  where  crabs  grow ; 
And  I  with  my  long  nails  will  dig  thee  pig-nuts; 
Show  thee  a  jay's  nest,  and  instruct  thee  how 
To  snare  the  nimble  marmozet :  I  '11  bring  thee 
To  clustering  filberds,  and  sometimes  I  '11  get  thee 
Young  scamels  from  the  rock  :  Wilt  thou  go  with  me  ? 

Ste.  I  pr'ythee  now,  lead  the  way,  without  any  more 
talking. — Trinculo,  the  king  and  all  our  company  else 
oeing  drowned,  we' will  inherit  here. — Here;  bear  my 
Dottle.— Fellow  Trinculo,  we'll  fill  him  by  and  by 
again. 


BC.   I.  THE    TEMPEST.  oU 

Cal.  Farewell,  master;  farewell,  farewell. 

[Sings  drunkenly, 

Trin .  A  howling  monster ;  a  drunken  monster. 
Cal.  No  more  dams  Til  make  for  fish; 
Nor  fetch  in  firing 
At  requiring, 

Nor  scrape  trencher,1  nor  wash  dish; 
'Ban  'Ban,  Ca— Caliban, 
Has  a  new  master — Get  a  new  man. 
Freedom,  hey-day  !  hey-day,  freedom  !  freedom  !  hey- 
day, freedom  ! 
Ste.  0  braVe  monster  !  lead  the  way.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I. — Before  PROSPERO'S  Cell. 
Enter  FERDINAND,  bearing  a  log. 

Fer.  There  be  some  sports  are  painful,  and  their 

labour 

Delight  in  them  sets  off:  some  kinds  of  baseness 
Are  nobly  undergone  ;  and  most  poor  matters 
Point  to  rich  ends.     This  my  mean  task 
Would  be  as  heavy  to  me,  as  odious ;  but 
The  mistress  which  I  serve  quickens  what 's  dead, 
And  makes  my  labours  pleasures  :  0  !  she  is 
Ten  times  more  gentle  than  her  father  's  crabbed ; 
And  he  's  composed  of  harshness.     I  must  remove 
Some  thousands  of  these  logs,  and  pile  them  up, 
Upon  a  sore  injunction  :  my  sweet  mistress 
Weeps  when  she  sees  me  work ;  and  says,  such  baseness 
Had  never  like  executor.     I  forget : 
But  these  sweet  thoughts  do  even  refresh  my  labours; 
Most  busy,  blest2  when  I  do  it. 

Enter  MIRANDA  ;  and  PROSPERO  behind.3 

Mira.  Alas  !  now,  pray  you, 

Work  not  so  hard  :  1  would,  the  lightning  had 
Burnt  up  those  logs  that  you  are  enjoin' d  to  pile. 
Pray,  set  it  down,  and  rest  you :  when  this  burns, 
'T  will  weep  for  having  wearied  you.     My  .father 
Is  hard  at  study ;  pray  now  rest  yourself : 
He  's  safe  for  these  three  hours. 

1  trenchering  :  in  f.  e.    5  least :  in  f.  e.    *  at  a  distance :  in  f.  e. 


40  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  in. 

jFer.  O,  most  dear  mistress  ! 

The  sun  will  set,  before  I  shall  discharge 
What  I  must  strive  to  do. 

Mira.  If  you'll  sit  down, 

I  '11  bear  your  logs  the  while.     Pray,  give  me  that : 
I  '11  carry  it  to  the  pile. 

Per.  No,  precious  creature : 

I  had  rather  crack  my  sinews,  break  my  back, 
Than  you  should  such  dishonour  undergo, 
While  I  sit  lazy  by. 

Mira.  It  would  become  me 

As  well  as  it  does  you  ;  and  I  should  do  it 
With  much  more  ease,  for  my  good  will  is  to  it, 
And  yours  it  is  against. 

Pro.  Poor  worm  !  thou  art  infected ; 

This  visitation  shows  it.  [Aside.1 

Mira.  You  look  wearily. 

Fer.  No,  noble  mistress ;  't  is  fresh  morning  with  me, 
When  you  are  by  at  night.     I  do  beseech  you, 
Chiefly  that  I  might  set  it  in  my  prayers, 
What  is  your  name  ? 

Mira.  Miranda.— O  my  father ! 

I  have  broke  your  hest  to  say  so.  [To  herself. 

Fer.  Admir'd  Miranda  ! 

Indeed,  the  top  of  admiration  ;  worth 
What 's  dearest  to  the  world  !     Full  many  a  lady 
I  have  ey'd  with  best  regard ;  and  many  a  time 
The  harmony  of  their  tongues  hath  into  bondage 
Brought  my  too  diligent  ear  :  for  several  virtues 
Have  I  lik'd  several  women ;  never  any 
With  so  full  soul,  but  some  defect  in  her 
Did  quarrel  with  the  noblest  grace  she  ow'd, 
And  put  it  to  the  foil :  but  you.  O  you  ! 
So  perfect,  and  so  peerless,  are  created 
Of  every  creature's  best. 

Mira.  I  do  not  know 

One  of  my  sex  ;  no  woman's  face  remember, 
Save,  from  my  glass,  mine  own ;  nor  have  I  seen 
More  that  I  may  call  men,  than  you,  good  friend, 
And  my  dear  father.     How  features  are  abroad, 
I  am  skill-less  of ;  but,  by  my  modesty, 
(The  jewel  in  my  dower)  I  would  not  wish 
Any  companion  in  the  world  but  you ; 
*  Not  inf.  e.    »  Not  in  f.  e. 


SO.  I.  THE    TEMPtriT.  41 

Nor  can  imagination  form  a  shape, 
Besides  yourself,  to  like  of.     But  I  prattle 
Something  too  wildly,  and  my  father's  precepts 
I  tin-rein  do  forget. 

Per.  I  am,  in  my  condition, 

A  prince,  Miranda  ;  1  do  think,  a  king  ; 
(I  would,  not  so  !)  and  would  no  more  endure 
This  wooden  slavery,  than  to  suffer 
The  flesh-fly  blow  my  mouth.     Hear  my  soul  speak  : 
The  very  instant  that  I  saw  you,  did 
My  heart  fly  to  your  service ;  there  resides, 
To  make  rne  slave  to  it ;  and  for  your  sake, 
Am  I  tltis  patient  log-man. 

Mira.  Do  you  love  me  ? 

Fer.  0  heaven !  0  earth !  bear  witness  to  this  sound. 
And  crown  what  I  profess  with  kind  event, 
If  I  speak  true  ;  if  hollowly,  invert 
What  best  is  boded  me  to  mischief !     I, 
Beyond  all  limit  of  aught1  else  i'  the  world, 
Do  love,  prize,  honour  you. 

Mira.  I  am  a  fool, 

To  weep  at  what  I  am  glad  of. 

Pro.  Fair  encounter 

Of  two  most  rare  affections  !     Heavens  rain  grace 
On  that  which  breeds  between  them  !  [ Aside* 

Fer.  Wherefore  weep  you? 

Mira.  At  mine  unworthiness,  that  dare  not  offer 
What  T  desire  to  give ;  and  much  less  take, 
What  I  shall  die  to  want.     But  this  is  trifling ; 
And  all  the  more  it  seeks  to  hide  itself, 
The  bigger  bulk  it  shows.     Hence,  bashful  cunning, 
And  prompt  me,  plain  and  holy  innocence! 
I  am  your  wife,  if  you  will  marry  me  ; 
If  not,  I  '11  die  your  maid :  to  be  your  fellow 
You  may  deny  me ;  but  I  'II  be  your  servant, 
Whether  you  will  or  no. 

Fer.  My  mistress,  dearest, 

And  I  thus  humble  ever.  [Kneels.* 

Mira.  My  husband  then? 

Fer.  Ay,  with  a  heart  as  willing  [Rises.* 

As  bondage  e'er  of  freedom  :  here  's  my  hand. 

Mira.  And  mine,  with  my  heart  in 't :  and  now 
farewell, 

>  what  else  :  in  f.  e.    »  '  *  Not  in  f.  e. 


42  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  III. 

Till  half  an  hour  hence. 

Fer.  A  thousand  thousand  !  [Exeunt  FER.  and  Mm 
Pro.  So  glad  of  this  as  they,  I  cannot  be, 
Who  are  surpris'd  with  all  :  but  my  rejoicing 
At  nothing  can  be  more.     I  '11  to  my  book ; 
For  yet,  ere  supper  time,  must  I  perform 
Much  business  appertaining.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— Another  part  of  the  Island. 

Enter  STEPHANO  and  TRINCULO  ;   CALIBAN  following 

with  a  bottle. 

Ste.  Tell  not  me  : — when  the  butt  is  out,  we  will 
drink  water;  not  a  drop  before  :  therefore  bear  up,  and 
board  'em.  Servant-monster,  drink  to  me. 

Trin.  Servant-monster?  the  folly  of  this  island! 
They  say,  there  's  but  five  upon  this  isle :  we  are  three 
of  them ;  if  the  other  two  be  brained  like  us,  the  state 
totters. 

Ste.  Drink,  servant-monster,  when  I  bid  thee :  thy 
eyes  are  almost  set  in  thy  head. 

Trin.  Where  should  they  be  set  else?  he  were  a 
brave  monster  indeed,  if  they  were  set  in  his  tail. 

Ste.  My  man-monster  hath  drowned  his  tongue  in 
sack  :  for  my  part,  the  sea  cannot  drown  me  :  I  swam, 
ere  I  could  recover  the  shore,  five-and-thirty  leagues, 
off  and  on,  by  this  light.  Thou  shalt  be  my  lieutenant, 
monster,  or  my  standard. 

Trin.  Your  lieutenant,  if  you  list;  he  's  no  standard. 

Ste.  We  '11  not  run,  monsieur  monster. 

Trin.  Nor  go  neither ;  but  you'll  lie,  like  dogs,  and 
yet  say  nothing  neither. 

Ste.  Moon-calf,  speak  once  in  thy  life,  if  thou  beest 
a  good  moon-calf. 

Cal.  How  does  thy  honour?  Let  me  lick  thy  shoe. 
I  '11  not  serve  him,  he  is  not  valiant. 

Trin.  Thou  liest,  most  ignorant  monster :  I  am  in 
sase  to  justle  a  constable.  Why,  thon  debauched  fish 
thou,  was  there  ever  man  a  coward,  that  hath  drunk 
BO  much  sack  as  I  to-day  ?  Wilt  thou  tell  a  monstrous 
lie,  being  but  half  a  fish,  and  half  a  monster  ? 

Cal.  Lo,  how  he  mocks  me  !  wilt  thou  let  him,  my 
*«rd? 

Trin.  Lord,  quoth  he  ! — that  a  monster  should  be 
fcuch  a  natural  f 


8C.  H.  THE    TEMPEST.  43 

Co.*.  Lo  lo.  again  !  bite  him  to  death.  I  pr'ythee. 

Ste.  Trinculo,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  your  head  :  if 
you  prove  a  mutineer,  the  next  tree — The  poor  mon- 
ster 's  my  subject,  and  he  shall  not.  suffer  indignity. 

Cc.1.  I  thank  my  noble  lord.  Wilt  thou  be  pleaa'd 
to  hearken  once  again  to  the  suit  I  made  to  thee  ? 

Ste.  Marry  will  I :  kneel  and  repeat  it :  I  will  stand, 
and  so  shall  Trinculo.  [CALIBAN  kneels.1 

Enter  ARIEL,  invisible. 

Col.  As  I  told  thee  before,  I  am  subject  to  a  tyrant; 
a  sorcerer,  that  by  his  cunning  hath  cheated  me  of  the 
island. 

Ari.  Thou  liest. 

Cal.  Thou  liest,  thou  jesting  monkey,  thou  ; 

I  would,  my  valiant  master  would  destroy  thee : 
I  do  not  lie. 

Ste.  Trinculo,  if  you  trouble  him  any  more  in  his 
tale,  by  this  hand,  I  will  supplant  some  of  your 
teeth. 

Trin.  Why.  I  said  nothing.  [ceed. 

Ste.  Mum  then,  and  no  more. — [To  CALIBAN.]    Pro- 

Cal.  I  say  by  sorcery  he  got  this  isle  ; 
From  me  he  got  it :  if  thy  greatness  will, 
Revenge  it  on  him — for,  I  know,  thou  dar'st ; 
But  this  thing  dare  not. 

Ste.  That 's  most  certain. 

Cal.  Thou  shalt  be  lord  of  it,  and  I  '11  serve  thee. 

Ste.  How,  now,  shall  this  be  compassed  ?  Canst 
thou  bring  me  to  the  party  ? 

Cal.  Yea,  yea,  my  lord  :  I  '11  yield  him  thee  asleep, 
Where  thou  may'st  knock  a  nail  into  his  head. 

Ari.  Thou  liest  j  thou  canst  not. 

Cal.  What  a  pied2  ninny  's  this  !  Thou  scurvy  patch ! 
I  do  beseech  thy  greatness,  give  him  blows, 
And  take  his  bottle  from  him  :  when  that 's  gone, 
He  shall  drink  nought  but  brine  ;  for  I'll  not  show  him 
Where  the  quick  freshes  are. 

Ste.  Trinculo,  run  into  no  farther  danger  :  interrupt 
the  monster  one  word  farther,  and,  by  this  hand,  I  '11 
turn  my  mercy  out  of  doors,  and  make  a  stock-fish  of 
thee. 

1  Not  in  f  e.  2  Dressed  in  motley, — this  expression  and  "  patch" 
were  epithets  often  applied  to  fools.  Trinculo,  as  "  a  jester,"  would 
he  t)  as  attired. 


44  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  m. 

Trin.  Why,  what  did  I  ?  I  did  nothing  I  '11  go 
farther  off. 

Ste.  Didst  thou  not  say,  he  lied  ? 

Ari.  Thou  liest. 

Ste.  Do  I  so  ?  take  thou  that.  [Strikes  htm.]  As 
you  like  this,  give  me  the  lie  another  time. 

Trin.  I  did  not  give  the  lie.  Out  o1  your  wits,  and 
hearing  too  ?  A  pox  o'  your  bottle  !  this  can  sack,  and 
drinking  do.  A  murrain  on  your  monster,  and  the 


devil  take  your  fingers  ! 
Cal.  Ha,  ha,  ha ! 


Ha,  ha,  ha 

Ste.  Now,  forward  with  your  tale.  Pr'ythee  stand 
farther  off. 

Cal.  Beat  him  enough  :  after  a  little  time, 
I'll  beat  him  too. 

Ste.  Stand  farther.     Come,  proceed. 

Cal.  Why,  as  I  told  thee.  't  is  a  custom  with  him 
I'  the  afternoon  to  sleep :  then  thou  may'st  brain  him, 
Having  first  seiz'd  his  books  :  or  with  a  log 
Batter  his  skull,  or  paunch  him  with  a  stake, 
Or  cut  his  wezand  with  thy  knife.     Remember, 
First  to  possess  his  books  ;  for  without  them 
He  's  but  a  sot,  as  I  am,  nor  hath  not 
One  spirit  to  command :  they  all  do  hate  him, 
As  rooted ly  as  I.     Burn  but  his  books  ; 
He  has  brave  utensils,  (for  so  he  calls  them) 
Which,  when  he  has  a  house,  he'll  deck  withal : 
And  that  most  deeply  to  consider  is 
The  beauty  of  his  daughter  ;  he  himself 
Calls  her  a  nonpareil  :  I  never  saw  a  woman, 
But  only  Sycorax  my  dam,  and  she; 
But  she  as  far  surpasseth  Sycorax, 
As  great'st  does  least. 

Ste.  Is  it  so  brave  a  lass  ? 

Cal.  Ay,  lord  ;  she  will  become  thy  bed,  I  warrant, 
And  bring  thee  forth  brave  brood. 

Ste.  Monster.  I  will  kill  this  man :  his  daughter  and 
I  will  be  king  and  queen ;  (save  our  graces  !)  and 
Trinculo  and  thyself  shall  be  viceroys.  Dost  thou 
like  the  plot,  Trinculo  ? 

Trin.  Excellent. 

Ste.  Give  me  thy  hand  :  I  am  sorry  I  beat  thee  ;  but, 
while  thou  livest,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  thy  head. 

Cal  Within  this  half  hour  will  he  be  asleep  ; 


SC.  II.  THE    TEMPEST.  45 

Wilt  thou  destroy  him  then  "r 

Ste.  Ay,  on  mine  honour. 

Ari.  This  will  I  tell  my  master. 

Cal.  Thou  mak'st  me  merry :  I  am  full  of  pleasure 
Let  us  be  jocund :  will  you  troll  the  catch 
You  taught  me  but  while-ere  ? 

Ste.  At  thy  request,  monster,  I  will  do  reason,  any 

reason.     Come  on.  Trinculo,  let  us  sing.  [S^ngs. 

Flout   'em,   and  scout   'em ;   and  scout   'em,   and 

flout  'em  ; 
Thought  is  free. 

Cal.  That 's  not  the  tune. 

[ARIEL  plays  a  tune  on  a  Tabor  and  Pipe. 

Ste.  What  is  this  same  ? 

Trin.  This  is  the  tune  of  our  catch,  played  by  the 
picture  of  No-body. 

Ste.  If  thou  beest  a  man,  show  thyself  in  thy  like- 
ness :  if  thou  beest  a  devil,  take  't  as  thou  list. 

Trin.  0,  forgive  me  my  sins  ! 

Ste.  He  that  dies,  pays  all  debts :  I  defy  thee. — 
Mercy  upon  us  ! 

Cal.  Art  thou  afeard  ? 

Ste.  No,  monster,  not  I. 

Cal.  Be  not  afeard ;  the  isle  is  full  of  noises, 
Sounds,  and  sweet  airs,  that  give  delight,  and  hurt 

not.    ' 

Sometimes  a  thousand  twangling  instruments 
Will  hum  about  mine  ears  ;  and  sometimes1  voices, 
That,  if  I  then  had  wak'd  after  long  sleep, 
Will  make  me  sleep  again  :  and  then,  in  dreaming, 
The  clouds,  methought,  would  open,  and  show  riches 
Ready  to  drop  upon  me,  that  when  I  wak'd 
I  cry'd  to  dream  again. 

Ste.  This  will  prove  a  brave  kingdom  to  me,  where 
I  shall  have  my  music  for  nothing. 

Cal.  When  Prospero  is  destroyed. 

Ste.  That  shall  be  by  and  by  :   I  remember  the  story. 

Trin.  The  sound  is  going  away  :  let 's  follow  it,  and 
after  do  our  work. 

Ste.  Lead,  monster  ;  we  '11  follow. — I  would,  I  could 
fee  this  taborer  :  he  lays  it  on. 

Trin.  Wilt  come  ?  I  '11  follow,  Stephano.     [Exeunt 


46  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  IK. 

SCENE  III.— Another  part  of  the  Island. 

Enter  ALONSO,  SEBASTIAN,  ANTONIO,  GONZALO, 

ADRIAN,  FRANCISCO,  and  Others. 

Gon.  By'r  la'kin.1  I  can  go  no  farther,  sir ; 
My  old  bones  ake :  here's  a  maze  trod,  indeed, 
Through  forth-rights,  and  meanders!  by  your  patience 
I  needs  must  rest  me. 

Alon.  Old  lord,  I  cannot  blame  thee, 

Who  am  myself  attach'd  with  weariness, 
To  the  dulling  of  my  spirits  :  sit  down,  and  rest. 
Even  here  I  will  put  off  my  hope,  and  keep  it 
No  longer  for  my  flatterer  :  he  is  drown'd, 
Whom  thus  we  stray  to  find  :  and  the  sea  mocks 
Our  frustrate  search  on  land.     Well,  let  him  go. 

Ant.  I  am  right  glad  that  he  ;s  so  out  of  hope. 

[Aside  to  SEBASTIAN. 

Do  not,  for  one  repulse,  forego  the  purpose 
That  you  resolv'd  to  effect. 

Seb.  The  next  advantage 

Will  we  take  thoroughly. 

Ant.  Let  it  be  to-night ; 

For  now  they  are  oppress'd  with  travel,  they 
Will  not,  nor  cannot,  use  such  vigilance, 
As  when  they  are  fresh. 

Seb.  I  say,  to-night :  no  more. 

[Solemn  and  strange  mimic  ;  and  PROSPERO  above,  invis- 
ible.    Enter  several  strange  Shapes,  bringing  in  a 

banquet :  they  dance  about  it  with  gentle  actions  of 

salutations;  and,  inviting  the  King,  tyc.  to  eat,  they 

depart.] 

Alon.  What  harmony  is  thrs?  my  good  friends,  hark  ! 

Gon.  Marvellous  sweet  music  ! 

Alon.  Give  us  kind  keepers,  heavens  !     What  wer« 
these  ? 

Seb.  A  living  drollery.     Now  I  will  believe 
That  there  are  unicorns ;  that  in  Arabia 
There  is  one  tree,  the  phoenix'  throne  j  one  pho3nix 
At  this  hour  reigning  there. 

Ant.  I'll  believe  both  ; 

And  what  does  else  want  credit,  come  to  me 
And  I  '11  be  sworn  't  is  true  :  travellers  ne'er  did  lie, 
Though  fools  at  home  condemn  them. 

'  BV  our  h^y-kin. 


EC.  III.  THE    TEMPEST.  47 

Gon.  If  in  Naples 

I  should  report  ihis  now.  would  they  believe  me  ? 
If  I  should  say,  I  saw  such  islanders, 
(For,  certes,  these  are  people  of  the  island) 
Who,  though  they  are  of  monstrous  shape,  yet,  note, 
Their  manners  are  more  gentle,  kind,  than  of 
Our  human  generation  you  shall  find 
Many,  nay.  almost  any. 

Pro.  [Aside.]  Honest  lord, 

Thou  hast  said  well :  for  some  of  you  there  present, 
Are  worse  than  devils. 

Aim.  I  cannot  too  much  muse,    [ing 

Such  shapes,  such  gestures,1  and  such  sounds,2  express- 
(Although  they  want  the  use  of  tongue)  a  kind 
Of  excellent  dumb  discourse. 

Pro.  [Aside]  Praise  in  departing. 

Fran.  They  vanish'd  strangely. 

Seb.  No  matter,  since 

They  have  left  their  viands  behind,  for  we  have  sto- 
machs.— 
Will 't  please  you  taste  of  what  is  here  ? 

Aim.  Not  I. 

Gon.  Faith,  sir,  you  need  not  fear.     When  we  were 

boys, 

Who  would  believe  that  there  were  mountaineers 
Dew-lapp'd  like  bulls,  whose  throats  had  hanging  at 

them 

Wallets  of  flesh  ?  or  that  there  were  such  men, 
Whose  heads  stood  in  their  breasts  ?  which  now,  we  find, 
Each  putter-out  of  five  for  one3  will  bring  us 
Good  warrant  of. 

Alon.  I  will  stand  to,  and  feed, 

Although  my  last :  no  matter,  since  I  feel 
The  best  is  past. — Brother,  my  lord  the  duke, 
Stand  to,  and  do  as  we. 
Thunder  and  lightning.      Enter  ARIEL,  like  a  harpy, 

claps  his  wings  upon  the  table,  and.  with  a  quaint 

device,  the  banquet  vanishes. 

Ari.  You  are  three  men  of  sin,  whom  destiny 
(That  hath  to  instrument  this  lower  world, 
And  what  is  in;t)  the  never-surfeited  sea 

•  gesture  :  in  f.  e.  2  sound  :  in  f.  e.  3  A  custom  of  old  traveller! 
to  put  out  a  sum  of  money  at  interest,  at  the  outset  of  a  journey 
for  which  they  received  at  the  rate  of  five  to  one,  if  they  returned 


48  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  III. 

Hath  caused  to  belch  up,  and  on  this  island 
Where  man  doth  not  inhabit;  you  'mongst  men 
Being  most  unfit  to  live.     I  have  made  you  mad  : 
And  even  with  such  like  valour  men  hang  and  drown 
Their  proper  selves.     You  fools  !  I  and  my  fellows 
Are  ministers  of  fate :  the  elements, 

[ALON.,  SEB.,  fyc.,  draw  their  Swof  is.' 
Of  whom  your  swords  are  temper'd.  may  as  well 
Wound  the  loud  winds,  or  with  bemock'd-at  stabs 
Kill  the  still-closing  waters,  as  diminish 
One  dowle3  that 's  in  my  plume :  my  fellow-ministers 
Are  like  invulnerable.     If  you  could  hurt, 
Your  swords  are  now  too  massy  for  your  strengths, 
And  will  not  be  uplifted.     But,  remember, 
(For  that 's  my  business  to  you)  that  you  three 
From  Milan  did  supplant  good  Prospero; 
Expos'd  unto  the  sea  (which  hath  requit  it) 
Him,  and  his  innocent  child :  for  which  foul  deed 
The  powers,  delaying  not  forgetting,  have 
Incens'd  the  seas  and  shores,  yea,  all  the  creatures, 
Against  your  peace.     Thee,  of  thy  son,  Alonso, 
They  have  bereft ;  and  do  pronounce  by  me, 
Lingering  perdition  (worse  than  any  death 
Can  be  at  once)  shall  step  by  step  attend 
You,  and  your  ways ;  whose  wraths  to  guard  you  from 
(Which  here,  in  this  most  desolate  isle,  else  falls 
Upon  your  heads)  is  nothing,  but  heart's  sorrow, 
And  a  clear  life  ensuing. 
He  vanishes  in  thunder:  then,  to  soft,  music,  enter  the 

Shapes  again,  and  dance  with  mocks  and  mowes,  and 

carry  out  the  table. 

Pro.  [ Above.*]  Bravely  the  figure  of  this  harpy  i>«st 

thou 

Perform'd,  my  Ariel ;  a  grace  it  had,  devouring. 
Of  my  instruction  hast  thou  nothing  'bated, 
In  what  thou  hadst  to  say  :  so,  with  good  life 
And  observation  strange,  my  meaner  ministers 
Their  several  kinds  have  done.  My  high  charms  v  o/k, 
And  these,  mine  enemies,  are  all  knit  up 
In  their  distractions  :  they  now  are  in  my  power ; 
And  in  these  fits  I  leave  them,  while  I  visit 

'  f.  e.  insert  here  this  direction  :  Seeing  ALON.,  SKB.,  $Y.,  drnv 
tkr-.r  Swords.     '  Omitted  in  f.  e.     »  A  ftather  or  particle  of  rf*,w» 
Atide  :  in  I",  e. 


SC.   I.  THE    TKMTEST.  49 

Young  Fe 'din and,  (whom  they  suppose  is  drown'd) 
And  his  and  my  lov'd  darling.  [Exit  PROSPERO. 

Gon.  P  the  name  of  something  holy,  sir,  why  stand  you 
In  this  strange  stare? 

Alon.  0,  it  is  monstrous  !  monstrous ! 

Methought,  the  billows  spoke,  and  told  me  of  it ; 
The  winds  did  sing  it  to  me ;  and  the  thunder, 
That  deep  and  dreadful  organ-pipe,  pronounc'd 
The  name  of  Prosper  :  it  did  base  my  trespass. 
Therefore  my  son  i'  the  ooze  is  bedded ;  and 
I  ;11  seek  him  deeper  than  e'er  plummet  sounded. 
And  with  him  there  lie  mudded.  [Exit. 

Seb.  But  one  fiend  at  a  time, 

I  '11  fight  their  legions  o'er. 

Ant.     I  '11  be  thy  second.       [Exeunt  SEB.  and  ANT. 

Gon.  All  three  of  them  are  desperate :  their  great  guilt. 
Like  poison  given  to  work  a  great  time  after, 
Now  'gins  to  bite  the  spirits. — I  do  beseech  you, 
That  are  of  suppler  joints,  follow  them  swiftly, 
And  hinder  them  from  what  this  ecstasy 
May  now  provoke  them  to. 

Adr.  Follow,  I  pray  you.  [Exeunt 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I. — Before  PROSPERO'S  Cell. 
Enter  PROSPERO,  FERDINAND,  and  MIRANDA. 

Pro.  If  I  have  too  austerely  pumsh'd  you, 
Your  compensation  makes  amends ;  for  I 
Have  given  you  here  a  thread1  of  mine  own  life, 
Or  that  for  which  I  live  :  whom  once  again 
I  tender  to  thy  hand.     All  thy  vexations 
Were  but  my  trials  of  thy  love,  and  thou 
Hast  strangely  stood  the  test:  here,  afore  Heaven, 
I  ratify  this  my  rich  gift  !     0  Ferdinand  ! 
Do  not  smile  at  me  that  I  boast  her  off, 
For  thou  shalt  find  she  will  outstrip  all  praise, 
And  make  it  halt  behind  her. 

Fcr.     ,  I  do  believe  it, 

Against  an  oracle. 

Pro.  Then,  as  my  gift,  and  thine  own  acquisition 
1  third  :  in  f.  e* 


50  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  IV, 

Worthily  purchas'd,  take  my  daughter:  but 
If  thou  dost  break  her  virgin  knot  before 
All  sanctimonious  ceremonies  may, 
With  full  and  holy  rite,  be  minister'd, 
No  sweet  aspersion  shall  the  heavens  let  fall 
To  make  this  contract  grow ;  but  barren  hate, 
Sour-eyed  disdain,  and  discord,  shall  bestrew 
The  union  of  your  bed  with  weeds  so  loathly, 
That  you  shall  hate  it  both  :  therefore,  take  heed, 
As  Hymen's  lamps  shall  light  you. 

Fer.  As  I  hope 

For  quiet  days,  fair  issue,  and  long  life, 
With  such  love  as  't  is  now,  the  murkiest  den, 
The  most  opportune  place,  the  strong'st  suggestion 
Our  worser  genius  can.  shall  never  melt 
Mine  honour  into  lust,  to  take  away 
The  edge  of  that  day's  celebration, 
When  I  shall  think,  or  Phoebus'  steeds  are  founder'd, 
Or  night  kept  chain'd  below. 

Pro.  Fairly  spoke. 

Sit  then  and  talk  with  her ;  she  is  thine  own. — 
What,  Ariel !  my  industrious  servant  Ariel ! 
Enter  ARIEL. 

Ari.  What  would  my  potent  master  ?  here  I  am. 

Pro.  Thou  and  thy  meaner  fellows  your  last  service 
Did  worthily  perform,  and  I  must  use  you 
In  such  another  trick.     Go,  bring  the  rabble, 
O'er  whom  I  give  thee  power,  here,  to  this  place: 
Incite  them  to  quick  motion ;  for  I  must 
Bestow  upon  the  eyes  of  this  young  couple 
Some  vanity  of  mine  art :  it  is  my  promise, 
And  they  expect  it  from  me. 

Ari.  Presently  ? 

Pro.  Ay.  with  a  twink. 

Ari.  Before  you  can  say,  "  Come,"  and  "  go," 
And  breathe  twice;  and  cry,  "so  so;" 
Each  one,  tripping  on  his  toe, 
Will  be  here  with  mop  and  mow. 
Do  you  love  me,  master?  no? 

Pro.  Dearly,  my  delicate  Ariel.     Do  not  approach, 
Till  thou  dost  hear  me  call. 

Ari.  Well  I  conceive.    [Exit. 

Pro.  Look,  thou  be  true.     Do  not  give  dalliance 
Too  much  the  rein .  the  strongest  oaths  are  straw 


8C.  I.  THE    TEMPEST.  51 

To  the  fire  i'  the  blood.     Be  more  abstemious, 
Or  else,  good  night,  your  vow. 

Per.  I  warrant  you,  sir ; 

The  white-cold  virgin  snow  upon  my  heart 
Abates  the  ardour  of  my  liver. 

Pro.  Well.— 

Now  come,  my  Ariel .'  bring  a  corollary,1 
Rather  than  want  a  spirit :  appear,  and  pertly.8 — 
No  tongue,  all  eyes:  be  silent.  [Soft  music, 

A  Masque.     Enter  IRIS. 

Iris.  Ceres,  most  bounteous  lady,  thy  rich  leas 
Of  wheat,  rye,  barley,  vetches,  oats,  and  peas; 
Thy  tv.rfy  mountains,  where  live  nibbling  sheep, 
And  fldt  meads  thatch'd  with  stover,3  them  to  keep ; 
Thy  banks  with  pioned*  and  tilled5  brims, 
Which  spongy  April  at  thy  hest  betrims, 
To  make  cold  nymphs  chaste  crowns ;  and  thy  brown* 

groves, 

Whose  shadow  the  dismissed  bachelor  loves, 
Being  lass-lorn  ;  thy  pole-clipt  vineyard ; 
And  thy  sea-marge,  steril,  and  rocky-hard, 
Where  thou  thyself  dost  air;  the  queen  o'  the  sky, 
Whose  watery  arch  and  messenger  am  I, 
Bids  thee  leave  these,  and  with  her  sovereign  grace, 
Here  on  this  grass-plot,  in  this  very  place, 

[Juno  descends  slowly.1 

To  come  and  sport.     Her  peacocks  fly  amain : 
Approach,  rich  Ceres,  her  to  entertain. 
Enter  CERES. 

Cer.  Hail,  many-colour'd  messenger,  that  ne'er 
Dost  disobey  the  wife  of  Jupiter ; 
Who  with  thy  saffron  wings  upon  my  flowers 
Diffusest  honey-drops,  refreshing  showers; 
And  with  each  end  of  thy  blue  bow  dost  crown 
My  bosky  acres,  and  my  unshrubb'd  down, 
Rich  scarf  to  my  proud  earth ;  why  hath  thy  queen 
Sumrnon'd  me  hither,  to  this  short-graz'd  green  ? 

Iris.  A  contract  of  true  love  to  celebrate, 
And  some  donation  freely  to  estate 
On  the  bless'd  lovers. 

Cer.  Tell  me,  heavenly  bow, 

l  Surplusage.  *  pertly— quickly,  skilfully.  3  Coarse  grass,  used 
sometimes  for  covering  Linn-buildings.  4  pion — to  dig  »  twilled  : 
inf.  e.  6  broom  :  in  f.  e.  'This  direction  is  omitted  in  most  modern 
sditions  ;  "  slowly"  is  added  in  the  MS.,  1632. 


52  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  IV 

If  Venus,  or  her  son,  as  thou  dost  know, 
Do  now  attend  the  queen  ?  since  they  did  plot 
The  means  that  dusky  Dis  my  daughter  got, 
Her  and  her  blind  boy's  scandal'd  company 
T  have  forsworn. 

Iris.  Of  her  society 

Be  not  afraid :  I  met  her  deity 
Cutting  the  clouds  towards  Paphos,  and  her  sou 
Dove-drawn  with  her.     Here  thought  they  to  have  done 
Some  wanton  charm  upon  this  man  and  maid, 
Whose  vows  are,  that  no  bed-right  shall  be  paid 
Till  Hymen's  torch  be  lighted;  but  in  vain: 
Mars'  hot  minion  is  return' d  again ; 
Her  waspish-headed  son  has  broke  his  arrows, 
Swears  he  will  shoot  no  more,  but  play  with  sparrows, 
And  be  a  boy  right  out. 

Cer.  Highest  queen  of  state, 

Great  Juno  comes  :  I  know  her  by  her  gait. 

Enter  JUNO. 

Jun.  How  does  my  bounteous  sister  ?     Go  with  me, 
To  bless  this  twain,  that  they  may  prosperous  be, 
And  honour  d  in  their  issue. 

SONG. 

Juno.  Honour,  riches,  marriage,  blessing, 
Long  continuance,  and  increasing, 
Hourly  joys  be  still  upon  you  ! 
Juno  sings  her  blessings  on  you.1 
Earth"1  s  increase,  foison  plenty, 
Barns,  and  garners  never  empty  ; 
Vines,  with  clustering  bunches  growing  ; 
Plants,  with  goodly  burden  bowing  ; 
Rain*  come  to  you,  at  the  farthest, 
In  the  very  end  of  harvest  ! 
Scarcity  and  want  shall  shun  you  ; 
Ceres'  blessing  so  is  on  you. 
Per.  This  is  a  most  majestic  vision,  and 
Harmonious  charmingly.     May  I  be  bold 
To  think  these  spirits  ? 

Pro.  Spirits,  which  by  mine  art 

1  have  from  their  oonfines  call'd  to  enact 
My  present  fancies 
Per.  Let  me  live  here  ever : 

1  In  f.  e.  the  remainder  ot'  the  song  is  given  to  Ceres.     »  Spring 


THE    TEMI'EST. 


53 


So  rare  a  wonder'd  father,  and  a  wife,1 
Makes  this  place  Paradise. 

[JUNO  and  CERES  whisper,  and  send  IRIS  on  employment. 
Pro.  Sweet  now,  silence  ! 
Juno  and  Ceres  whisper  seriously; 
There's  something  else  to  do.     Hush,  and  be  mute, 
Or  else  our  spell  is  marr;d. 

Iris.  You  nymphs,  call'd  Naiads,  of  the  -winding 

brooks, 

With  your  sedge2  crowns,  and  ever  harmless  looks, 
Leave  your  crisp  channels,  and  on  this  green  land 
Answer  your  summons  :  Juno  does  command. 
Come,  temperate  nymphs,  and  help  to  celebrate 
A  contract  of  true  love  :  be  not  too  late. 

Enter  certain  Nymphs. 

You  sun-burn'd  sicklemen,  of  August  weary, 
Come  hither  from  the  furrow,  and  be  merry. 
Make  holy-day  :  your  rye-straw  hats  put  on, 
And  these  fresh  nymphs  encounter  every  one 
In  country  footing. 

Enter  certain  Reapers,  properly  habited :  they  join  with 
the  Nymphs  in  a  graceful  dance  ;  towards  the  end  where- 
of PROS,  starts  suddenly,  and  speaks  ;  after  which,  to  a 
strange,  hollow,  and  confused  noise,  they  heavily  vanish. 
Pro.  [Asid^.]  I  had  forgot  that  foul  conspiracy 
Of  the  beast  Caliban,  and  his  confederates, 
Against  my  life ;  the  minute  of  their  plot 
Is    almost    come. — [To   the    Spirits.]     Well    done. — 

Avoid  ; — no  more. 

Fer.  This  is  strange :  your  father 's  in  some  passion 
That  works  him  strongly. 

Mira.  Never  till  this  day, 

Saw  I  him  touch'd  with  anger  so  distemper'd. 
Pro.  You  do  look,  my  sonj  in  a  mov'd  sort, 
As  if  you  were  dismay'd  :  be  cheerful,  sir. 
Our  revels  now  are  ended.     These  our  actors, 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air: 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision, 
The  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve, 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 

1  wise  :  in  f.  e.  2  sedg'd  :  in  f.  e. 
VOL.  i.  18 


54  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  IV. 

Leave  not  a  rack1  behind.     We  are  such  stuff 

As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  Hie 

Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. — Sir.  I  am  vex'd : 

Bear  with  my  weakness ;  my  old  brain  is  troubled  : 

Be  not  disturb'd  with  my  infirmity. 

If  you  be  pleas'd  retire  into  my  cell, 

And  there  repose :  a  turn  or  two  I  '11  walk, 

To  still  my  beating  mind. 

Fer.  Mira.  We  wish  your  peace.     [Exeunt. 

Pro.  Come  with  a  thought ! — I  thank  thee. — Ariel, 
come ! 

Enter  ARIEL. 

Art.  Thy  thoughts  I  cleave  to.  What 's  thy  pleasure  ? 

Pro.  Spirit, 

We  must  prepare  to  meet  with  Caliban. 

Ari.  Ay,  my  commander :  when  I  presented  Ceres, 
I  thought  to  have  told  thee  of  it ;  but  I  fear'd 
Lest  I  might  anger  thee. 

Pro.  Say  again,  where  didst  thou  leave  these  varlets  ? 

Ari.  I  told  you.  sir,  they  were  red-hot  with  drinking : 
So  full  of  valour,  that  they  smote  the  air 
For  breathing  in  their  faces ;  beat  the  ground 
For  kissing  of  their  feet,  yet  always  bending 
Towards  their  project.     Then  I  beat  my  tabor, 
At  which,  like  unback'd  colts,  they  prick'd  their  ears, 
Advanc'd  their  eye-lids,  lifted  up  their  noses, 
As  they  smelt  music :  so  I  charm'd  their  ears, 
That,  calf-like,  they  my  lowing  follow'd,  through 
Tooth' d  briers,  sharp  furzes,  pricking  gorse,  and  thorns, 
Which  enter'd  their  frail  skins  :»  at  last  I  left  them 
F  the  filthy  mantled  pool  beyond  your  cell, 
There  dancing  up  to  the  chins,  that  the  foul  lake 
O'erstunk  their  feet. 

Pro.  This  was  well  done,  my  bird, 

Thy  shape  invisible  retain  thou  still : 
The  trumpery  in  my  house,  go,  bring  it  hither, 
For  stale'  to  catch  these  thieves. 

•Ari.  I  go,  I  go.     [Exit 

Pro.  A  devil,  a  born  devil,  on  whose  nature 
Nurture  never  can  stick ;  on  whom  my  pains, 
Humanely  taken,  all,  all  lost,  quite  lost ; 
And  as  with  age  his  body  uglier  grows, 
So  his  mind  cankers.     I  will  plague  them  all, 

1  A  vapor,  from  reek.    *  shins  :  in  f  e.    «  .4  decoy. 


EC.  1.  THE    TEMPEST.  55 

Re-enter  ARIEL,  loadcn  with  glistering  apparel,  fyc. 
Kven  to  roaring. — Come,  hang  them  on  this  line. 

ARIEL  hangs  them  on  the  line,  and  with  PROSPERO 
remains  unseen.1 

Enter  CALIBAN,  STEPHANO,  and  TRINCULO,  all  wet. 

Cal.  Pray  you,  tread  softly,  that  the  blind  mole  may 

not 
Hear  a  foot  fall :  we  now  are  near  his  cell. 

Ste.  Monster,  your  fairy,  which,  you  say,  is  a  harm- 
less fairy,  has  done  little  better  than  played  the  Jack* 
with  us. 

Trin.  Monster,  I  do  smell  all  horse-piss,  at  which 
my  nose  is  in  great  indignation. 

Ste.  So  is  mine.  Do  you  hear,  monster  ?  If  I  should 
take  a  displeasure  against  you ;  look  you, — 

Trin.  Thou  wert  but  a  lost  monster. 

Cal.  Good  my  lord,  give  me  thy  favour  still. 
Be  patient,  for  the  prize  I  '11  bring  thee  to 
Shall  hood- wink  this  mischance :  therefore,  speak  softly; 
All 's  hush'd  as  midnight  yet. 

Trin.  Ay.  but  to  lose  our  bottles  in  the  pool, — 

Ste.  There  is  not  only  disgrace  and  dishonour  in 
that,  monster,  but  an  infinite  loss. 

Trin.  That 's  more  to  me  than  my  wetting :  yet  this 
is  your  harmless  fairy,  monster. 

Ste.  I  will  fetch  off  my  bottle,  though  I  be  o'er  ears 
for  my  labour. 

Cal.  Pr'ythee,  my  king,  be  quiet.     Seest  thou  here  ? 
This  is  the  mouth  o'  the  cell :  no  noise,  and  enter : 
Do  that  good  mischief,  which  may  make  this  island 
Thine  own  for  ever,  and  I,  thy  Caliban, 
For  aye  thy  foot-licker. 

Ste.  Give  me  thy  hand.  I  do  begin  to  have  bloody 
thoughts. 

Trin.  0  king  Stephano  !  0  peer  !  0  worthy  Ste- 
phano  !  look,  what  a  wardrobe  here  is  for  thee  ! 

[Seeing  the  apparel* 

Cal.  Let  it  alone,  thou  fool :  it  is  but  trash. 

Trin.  O,  ho,  monster  !  we  know  what  belongs  lo  a 
frippery.4— 0  king  Stephano  ! 

Ste.  Put  oil'  that  gown,  Trinculo:  by  this  hand,  1 :11 
have  that  gown. 

1  f.  e.  ha ve  only  th«  direction,  PROSI-ERO  and  ARIEL  remain 
•  Jack  o'  lantern.     =>  Not  in  f.  e.    *  An  old  c/o'  shop. 


56  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  IV 

Trin.  Thy  grace  shall  have  it. 

Cal.  The  dropsy  drown  this  fool !  what  do  you  mean, 
To  doat  thus  on  such  luggage?     Let 't  alone, 
And  do  the  murder  first :  if  he  awake, 
From  toe  to  crown  he'll  fill  our  skins  with  pinches ; 
Make  us  strange  stuff. 

Ste.  Be  you  quiet,  monster. — Mistress  line,  is  not 
this  my  jerkin?  Now  is  the  jerkin  under  the  line: 
now,  jerkin,  you  are  like  to  lose  your  hair,  and  prove 
a  bald  jerkin. 

Trin.  Do,  do  :  we  steal  by  line  and  leve),  and 't  like 
your  grace. 

Ste.  I  thank  thee  for  that  jest ;  here  7s  a  garment 
for 't :  wit  shall  not  go  unrewarded,  while  1  am  king  of 
this  country.  "  Steal  by  line  and  level,"  is  an  excel- 
lent pass  of  pate ;  there 's  another  garment  for 't. 

Trin.  Monster,  come ;  put  some  lime  upon  your 
fingers,  and  away  with  the  rest. 

Cal.  I  will  have  none  on 't :  we  shall  lose  our  time, 
And  all  be  turn'd  to  barnacles,  or  to  apes 
With  foreheads  villainous  low. 

Ste.  Monster,  lay-to  your  fingers :  help  to  bear  this 
away  where  my  hogshead  of  wine  is.  or  I  '11  turn  you 
out  of  my  kingdom.  Go  to ;  carry  this. 

Trin.  And  this. 

Ste.  Ay,  and  this. 
[A  noise  of  hunters  heard.     Enter  divers  Spirits,  in 

shape  of  hounds,  and  hunt  them  about ;  PROSPERO 

ana  ARIEL  setting  them  on.] 

Pro.  Hey,  Mountain,  hey  ! 

Ari.  Silver !  there  it  goes,  Silver ! 

Pro.  Fury,  Fury !  there,  Tyrant,  there !  hark,  hark  ! 
[CAL.,  STE.,  and  TRIN.  are  driven  out. 
Go,  charge  my  goblins  that  they  grind  their  joints 
With  dry  convulsions ;  shorten  up  their  sinews 
With  aged  cramps,  and  more  pinch-spotted  make  them. 
Than  pard,  or  cat  o'  mountain.       [Cries  and  roaring. 

Ari.  Hark  !  they  roar. 

Pro.  Let  them  be  hunted  soundly.     At  this  hour 
Lie  at  my  mercy  all  mine  enemies : 
Shortly  shall  all  my  labours  end,  and  thou 
Shalt  have  the  air  at  freedom :  for  a  little, 
Follow,  and  do  me  service.  [Exeunt 

«  Not  in  f.  e. 


SO.  1.  THE    TEMPEST.  57 

ACT   V. 

SCENE  I.— Before  the  Cell  of  PROSPERO. 
Enter  PROSPERO  in  his  magic  robes  ;  and  ARIEL. 

Pro.  Now  does  my  project  gather  to  a  head  : 
My  charms  crack  not,  my  spirits  obey,  and  time 
Goes  upright  with  his  carriage.     How 's  the  day  ? 

Ari.  On  the  sixth  hour ;  at  which  time,  my  lord, 
You  said  our  work  should  cease. 

Pro.  I  did  say  so, 

When  first  I  rais'd  the  tempest.     Say,  my  spirit, 
How  fares  the  king  and  's  followers  ? 

Ari.  Confin'd  together 

In  the  same  fashion  as  you  gave  in  charge; 
Just  as  you  left  them :  all  prisoners,  sir, 
In  the  line'-grove  which  weather-fends  your  cell; 
They  cannot  budge  till  your  release.     The  king, 
His  brother,  and  yours,  abide  all  three  distracted, 
And  the  remainder  mourning  over  them, 
Brim-full  of  sorrow,  and  dismay ;  but  chiefly 
Him  that  you  term'd,  sir,  the  good  old  lord,  Gonzalo : 
His  tears  run  down  his  beard,  like  winter's  drops 
From  eaves  of  reeds.     Your  charm  so  strongly  works 

them, 

That  if  you  now  beheld  them,  your  affections 
Would  become  tender. 

Pro.  Dost  thou  think  so,  spirit  ? 

Ari.  Mine  would,  sir,  were  I  human. 

Pro.  And  mine  shall. 

Hast  thou,  which  art  but  air,  a  touch,  a  feeling 
Of  their  afflictions,  and  shall  not  myself, 
One  of  their  kind,  that  relish  all  as  sharply, 
Passion  as  they,  be  kindlier  mov'd  than  thou  art? 
Tho'  with  their  high  wrongs  I  am  struck  to  the  quick) 
Yet,  with  my  nobler  reason,  'gainst  my  fury 
Do  I  take  part.     The  rarer  action  is 
In  virtue,  than  in  vengeance :  they  being  penitent, 
The  sole  drift  of  my  purpose  doth  extend 
Not  a  frown  farther.     Go ;  release  them,  Ariel. 
My  charms  I  '11  break,  their  senses  I  '11  restore, 
And  they  shall  be  themselves. 

Ari.  I'll  fetch  them,  sir.     [Exit, 

i  The  old  word  for  lime. 


58  THE   1EMPEST.  ACT  V. 

Pro.  Ye  elves  of  hills,  brooks,  standing  lakes,  and 

groves; 

And  ye,  that  on  the  sands  with  printless  foot 
Do  chase  the  ebbing  Neptune,  and  do  fly  him, 
When  he  comes  back ;  you  demy-puppets,  that 
By  moonshine  do  the  green-sward1  ringlets  make, 
Whereof  the  ewe  not  bites;  and  you,  whose  pastime 
Is  to  make  midnight  mushrooms ;  that  rejoice 
To  hear  the  solemn  curfew ;  by  whose  aid 
(Weak  masters  though  ye  be)  I  have  be-dimm'd 
The  noontide  sun,  call'd  forth  the  mutinous  winds, 
And  'twixt  the  green  sea  and  the  azur'd  vault 
Set  roaring  war :  to  the  dread  rattling  thunder 
Have  I  given  fire,  and  rifted  Jove's  stout  oak 
With  his  own  bolt :  the  strong-bas'd  promontory 
Have  I  made  shake;  and  by  the  spurs  pluck'd  up 
The  pine  and  cedar :  graves,  at  my  command, 
Have  waked  their  sleepers ;  oped,  and  let  them  forth 
By  my  so  potent  art.     But  this  rough  magic 
I  here  abjure;  and,  when  I  have  requir'd 
Some  heavenly  music,  (which  even  now  I  do) 
To  work  mine  end  upon  their  senses,  that 
This  airy  charm  is  for,  I'll  break  my  staff, 
Bury  it  certain  fathoms  in  the  earth, 
And,  deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound, 
I  '11  drown  my  book.  [Solemn  music. 

Re-enter  ARIEL  :  after  him  ALONSO,  with  a  frantic 
gesture,  attended  by  GONZALO;  SEBASTIAN  and  AN- 
TONIO in  like  manner,  attended  by  ADRIAN  and 
FRANCISCO  :  they  all  enter  the  circle  which  PROSPERO 
had  made,  and  there  stand  charmed;  which  PROSPERO 
observing,  speaks. 

A  solemn  air,  and  the  best  comforter 
To  an  unsettled  fancy,  cure  thy  brains. 
Now  useless,  boil'd  within  thy  skull !     There  stand, 
For  you  are  spell-stopp'd. — 
Noble*  Gonzalo.  honourable  man, 
Mine  eyes,  even  sociable  to  the  flow3  of  thine, 
Fall  fellowly  drops. — The  charm  dissolves  apace; 
And  as  the  morning  steals  upon  the  night, 
Melting  the  darkness,  so  their  rising  senses 
Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 
Their  clearer  reason. — 0  good  Gonzalo  ! 

1  green-sour  :  in  f.  e.    '  Holy  •  it  f.  e.    '  show :  in  f.  • 


SC.  T.  THE    TEMPEST.  59 

My  true  preserver,  and  a  loyal  servant1 
To  him  thou  follow'st,  I  will  pay  thy  graces 
Home,  both  in  word  and  deed. — Most  cruelly 
Didst  thou,  Alonso,  use  me  and  my  daughter : 
Thy  brother  was  a  furtherer  in  the  act ; — 
Thou  'rt  pinch' d  for 't  now,  Sebastian. — Flesh  and  blood, 
You  brother  mine,  that  entertain'd  ambition, 
Expell'd  remorse  and  nature ;  who,  with  Sebastian, 
(Whose  inward  pinches  therefore  are  most  strong) 
Would  here  have  kill'd  your  king;  I  do  forgive  thee, 
Unnatural  though  thou  art. — Their  understanding 
Begins  to  swell,  and  the  approaching  tide 
Will  shortly  fill  the  reasonable  shores, 
That  now  lie  foul  and  muddy.     Not  one  of  them, 
That  yet  looks  on  me,  e'er2  would  know  me. — Ariel, 
Fetch  me  the  hat  and  rapier  in  my  cell ;  [Exit  ARIEL. 
I  will  dis-case  me,  and  myself  present, 
As  I  was  sometime  Milan. — Quickly,  spirit; 
Thou  shalt  ere  long  be  free. 

ARIEL  re-enters  singing,  and  helps  to  attire  PROSPERO. 
Ari.   Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I; 
In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie : 
There  I  couch.     When  owls  do  cry, 
On  the  bat' shack  I  do  fly, 
After  summer,  merrily: 
Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I  live  now, 
Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough. 
Pro.  Why,  that 's  my  dainty  Ariel !  I  shall  miss  thee ; 
But  yet  thou  shalt  have  freedom : — so,  so,  so. — 
To  the  king's  ship,  invisible  as  thou  art : 
There  shalt  thou  find  the  mariners  asleep 
Under  the  hatches ;  the  master,  and  the  boatswain, 
Being  awake,  enforce  them  to  this  place, 
And  presently,  I  pr'ythee. 

Ari.  I  drink  the  air  before  me,  and  return 
Or  e'er  your  pulse  twice  beat.  [Exit  ARIEL. 

Gon.  All  torment,  trouble,  wonder,  and  amazement 
Inhabit  here :  some  heavenly  power  guide  us 
Out  of  this  fearful  country  ! 

Pro.  [Attired  as  Duke.*]       Behold,  sir  king, 
The  wronged  duke  of  Milan,  Prospero. 
— For  more  assurance  that  a  living  prince 
Does  now  speak  to  thee,  I  embrace  thy  body ; 
1  sil  :  in  f.  e.    »  or  :  in  f.  e.    »  Not  in  f.  e. 


60  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  V 

And  to  thee,  and  thy  company,  I  bid 
A  hearty  welcome. 

Alon.  Whe'r  thou  beest  he,  or  no, 

Or  some  enchanted  devil1  to  abuse  me, 
As  late  I  have  been,  I  not  know:  thy  pulse 
Beats  as  of  flesh  and  blood ;  and,  since  I  saw  thee, 
Th'  affliction  of  my  mind  amends,  with  which. 
I  fear,  a  madness  held  me.     This  must  crave 
(An  if  this  be  at  all)  a  most  strange  story. 
Thy  dukedom  I  resign ;  and  do  entreat 
Thou  pardon  me  thy  wrongs. — But  how  should  Prosperc 
Be  living,  and  be  here  ? 

Pro.  First,  noble  friend, 

Let  me  embrace  thine  age,  whose  honour  cannot 
Be  measur'd,  or  confin'd. 

Gon.  Whether  this  be, 

Or  be  not,  I  '11  not  swear. 

Pro.     '  You  do  yet  taste 

Some  subtleties  o'  the  isle,  that  will  not  let  you 
Believe  things  certain. — Welcome,  my  friends  all. — 
But  you,  my  brace  of  lords,  were  I  so  minded, 

[Aside  to  SEE.  and  ANT 

I  here  could  pluck  his  highness'  frown  upon  you, 
And  justify  you  traitors :  at  this  time 
I  will  tell  no  tales. 

Seb.  [Aside.]         The  devil  speaks  in  him. 

Pro.  No.— 

For  you,  most  wicked  sir,  whom  to  call  brother 
Would  even  infect  my  mouth.  I  do  forgive 
Thy  rankest  faults5 ;  all  of  them  ;  and  require 
My  dukedom  of  thee,  which,  perforce,  I  know 
Thou  must  restore. 

Alon.  If  thou  beest  Prospero, 

Give  us  particulars  of  thy  preservation : 
How  thou  hast  met  us  here,  who  three  hours  since 
Were  wreck'd  upon  this  shore ;  where  I  have  lost, 
(How  sharp  the  point  of  this  remembrance  is  !) 
My  dear  son  Ferdinand. 

Pro.  I  am  woe  for 't,  sir. 

Alon.  Irreparable  is  the  loss,  and  patience 
Says  it  is  past  her  cure. 

Pro.  I  rather  think, 

You  have  not  sought  her  help  •  of  whose  soft  grace, 


SO.  I.  THE    TEMPEST.  61 

For  th  3  like  loss  I  have  her  sovereign  aid, 
And  rest  myself  content. 

Alon.  You  the  like  loss  ? 

Pro.  As  great  to  me,  as  late ;  and,  supportable 
To  make  the  dear  loss,  have  I  means  much  weaker 
Than  you  may  call  to  comfort  you,  for  I 
Have  lost  my  daughter. 

Alon.  A  daughter  ? 

()  heavens  !  that  they  were  living  both  in  Naples, 
The  king  and  queen  there  !  that  they  were,  I  wish 
Myself  were  muddcd  in  that  oozy  bed 
Where  my  son  lies.     When  did  you  lose  your  daughtc  r  ? 

Pro.  In  this  last  tempest.     I  perceive,  these  lords 
At  this  encounter  do  so  much  admire, 
That  they  devour  their  reason,  and  scarce  think 
Their  eyes  do  offices  of  truth,  their  words 
Are  natural  breath ;  but,  howsoe'er  you  have 
Been  justled  from  your  senses,  know  for  certain, 
That  I  am  Prospero,  and  that  very  duke 
Which  was  thrust  forth  of  Milan ;  who  most  strangely 
Upon  this  shore,  where  you  were  wreck'd,  was  landed, 
To  be  the  lord  on 't.     No  more  yet  of  this  ; 
For  't  is  a  chronicle  of  day  by  day, 
Not  a  relation  for  a  breakfast,  nor 
Befitting  this  first  meeting.     Welcome,  sir ; 
This  cell 's  my  court :  here  have  I  few  attendants, 
And  subjects  none  abroad  :  pray  you,  look  in. 
My  dukedom  since  you  have  given  me  again, 
I  will  requite  you  with  as  good  a  thing ; 
At  least,  bring  forth  a  wonder,  to  content  ye 
As  much  as  me  my  dukedom. 

PROSPERO  draws  a  curtain,1  and  discovers  FERDINAND 
and  MIRANDA  playing  at  chess. 

Mira.  Sweet  lord,  you  play  me  false. 

Fer.  No,  my  dearest  love, 

1  would  not  for  the  world. 

Mira.  Yes,   for   a   score   of  kingdoms  you   should 

wrangle, 
And  I  would  call  it  fair  play. 

A  Ion.  If  this  prove 

A  vision  of  the  island,  one  dear  son 
Shall  I  twice  lose. 

Seb.  A  most  high  miracle  ! 

1  The  entrance  of  the  celt  opens,  and :  in  f.  e. 


62  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  V 

Fer.  Though  the  seas  threaten  they  are  merciful : 
I  have  curs'd  them  -without  cause.       [Kneels  to  ALON 

Aim.  Now,  all  the  blessings 

Of  a  glad  father  compass  thee  about ! 
Arise,  and  say  how  thou  cam'st  here. 

Mira.  0,  wonder ! 

How  many  goodly  creatures  are  there  here  ! 
How  beauteous  mankind  is  !     0,  brave  new  world. 
That  has  such  people  in't ! 

Pro.  'T  is  new  to  thee. 

Aim,.  What  is  this  maid,  with  whom  thou  wast  at 

play? 

Your  eld'st  acquaintance  cannot  be  three  hours  : 
Is  she  the  goddess  that  hath  sever'd  us, 
And  brought  us  thus  together  ? 

Fer.  Sir,  she  is  mortal ; 

But,  by  immortal  providence,  she 's  mine : 
I  chose  her,  when  I  could  not  ask  my  father 
For  his  advice,  nor  thought  I  had  one.     She 
Is  daughter  to  this  famous  duke  of  Milan, 
Of  whom  so  often  I  have  heard  renown, 
But  never  saw  before ;  of  whom  I  have 
Received  a  second  life,  and  second  father 
This  lady  makes  him  to  me. 

Alon.  I  am  hers. 

But  0  !  how  oddly  will  it  sound,  that  I 
Must  ask  my  child  forgiveness. 

Pro.  There,  sir,  stop  : 

Let  us  not  burden  our  remembrances 
With  a  heaviness  that 's  gone. 

Gon.  I  have  inly  wept, 

Or  should  have  spoke  ere  this.     Look  down,  you  gods. 
And  on  this  couple  drop  a  blessed  crown, 
For  it  is  you  that  have  chalk' d  forth  the  way, 
Which  brought  us  hither  ! 

Alon.  I  say.  Amen,  Gonzalo. 

Gon.  Was  Milan  thrust  from  Milan,  that  his  issue 
Should  become  kings  of  Naples  ?    0  !  rejoice 
Beyond  a  common  joy,  and  set  it  down 
With  gold  on  lasting  pillars.     In  one  voyage 
Did  Claribel  her  husband  find  at  Tunis ; 
And  Ferdinand,  her  brother,  found  a  wife, 
Where  he  himself  was  lost;  Prospero  his  dukedom, 
tn  a  poor  isle ;  and  all  of  us,  ourselves, 


60.  I.  THE    TEMPEST.  63 

When  no  man  was  his  own. 

Alan.  Give  me  your  hands  :         [To  FER.  .md  Mm. 
Let  grief  and  sorrow  still  embrace  his  heart, 
That  doth  not  wish  you  joy  ! 

Gon.  Be  it  so  :  Amen. 

Re-enter  ARIEL,  with  the  Master  and  Boatswain 
amazedly  following. 

0  look,  sir  !  look,  sir !  here  are  more  of  us. 

1  prophesied,  if  a  gallows  were  on  land, 

This  fellow  could  not  drown. — Now,  blasphemy, 
That  swear' st  grace  o'erboard,  not  an  oath  on  shore? 
Hast  thou  no  mouth  by  land  ?  What  is  the  news? 

Boats.  The  best  news  is,  that  we  have  safely  found 
Our  king,  and  company :  the  next,  our  ship, 
Which  but  three  glasses  since  we  gave  out  split, 
Is  tight,  and  yare,  and  bravely  rigg'd,  as  when 
We  first  put  out  to  sea. 

Ari.  Sir,  all  this  service     [Aside. 

Have  I  done  since  I  went. 

Pro.  My  tricksy  spirit !     [Aside. 

AJon.  These  are  not  natural  events ;  they  strengthen 
From  strange  to  stranger. — Say,  how  came  you  hither? 

Boats.  If  I  did  think,  sir,  I  were  well  awake, 
I  'd  strive  to  tell  you.     We  were  dead  of  sleep, 
And  (how  we  know  not)  all  clapp'd  under  hatches, 
Where,  but  even  now.  with  strange  and  several  noises 
Of  roaring,  shrieking,  howling,  jingling  chains. 
And  more  diversity  of  sounds,  all  horrible, 
We  were  awak'd  ;  straightway,  at  liberty : 
Where  weT  in  all  her  trim,  freshly  beheld 
Our  royal,  good,  and  gallant  ship ;  our  master 
Capering  to  eye  her  :  on  a  trice,  so  please  you, 
Even  in  a  dream,  were  we  divided  from  them, 
And  were'brought  moping  hither. 

Ari.  Was  't  well  done  ?  ) 

Pro.  Bravely,  my  diligence  !     Thou  shalt  \  Aside. 
be  free.  ) 

Alon.  This  is  as  strange  a  maze  as  e;er  men  trod; 
And  there  is  in  this  business  more  than  nature 
Was  ever  conduct  of :  some  oracle 
Must  rectify  our  knowledge. 

Pro.  Sir.  my  liege, 

Do  not  infest  your  mind  with  beating  on 
The  strangeness  of  this  business  :  at  pick'd  leisure, 


64  THE    TEMPEST.  ACT  V. 

Which  shall  be  shortly,  single  I  '11  resolve  you 
(Which  to  you  shall  seem  probable)  of  every 
These  happcn'd  accidents  ;  till  when,  be  cheerful. 
And  think  of  each  thing  well. — Come  hither,  spirit : 

[Aside. 

Set  Caliban  and  his  companions  free; 
Untie  the  spell.  [Ex.  ARIEL.]     How  fares  my  gracioui 


r? 


sir.' 

There  are  yet  missing  of  your  company 
Some  few  odd  lads,  that  you  remember  not. 
Re-enter  ARIEL,  driving  in  CALIBAN,  STEPHANO,  and 
TRINCULO,  in  their  stolen  apparel. 

Ste.  Every  man  shift  for  all  the  rest,  and  let  no  man 
take  care  for  himself,  for  all  is  but  fortune. — Coragio  ! 
bully-monster,  coragio ! 

Trin.  If  these  be  true  spies  which  I  wear  in  my 
head,  here  's  a  goodly  sight. 

Cal.  0  Setebos  !  these  be  brave  spirits,  indeed. 
How  fine  my  master  is  !     I  am  afraid 
He  will  chastise  me. 

Seb.  Ha,  ha  ! 

What  things  are  these,  my  lord  Antonio  ? 
Will  money  buy  them  ? 

Ant.  Very  like :  one  of  them 

Is  a  plain  fish,  and.  no  doubt,  marketable. 

Pro.  Mark  but  the  badges  of  these  men,  my  lords 
Then  say.  if  they  be  true. — This  mis-shapen  knave, 
His  mother  was  a  witch  ;  and  one  so  strong 
That  could  control  the  moon,  make  flows  and  ebbs, 
And  deal  in  her  command  with  all1  her  power. 
These  three  have  robb'd  me  ;  and  this  demi-devil 
(For  he 's  a  bastard  one)  had  plotted  with  them 
To  take  my  life  :  two  of  these  fellows  you 
Must  know,  and  own  ;  this  thing  of  darkness  I 
Acknowledge  mine. 

Cal.  I  shall  be  pinch'd  to  death. 

Alon.  Is  not  this  Stephano,  my  drunken  butler  ? 

Scb.  He  is  drunk  now :  where  had  he  wine  ? 

Alon.  And  Trinculo  is  reeling  ripe :  where  should 

they 

Find  this  grand  liquor  that  hath  gilded  'em? — 
How  cam'st  thou  in  this  pickle  ? 

Trin.  I  have  been  in  such  a  pickle,  s;«\ce  1  saw  you 

»  without :  in  f.  e. 


SC.  I.  THE    TEMPEST.  65 

last,  that,  I  fear  me,  will  never  out  of  my  bones  :  I  shall 
not  fear  fly-blowing. 

Seb.  Why.  how  now,  Stephano  ! 

Ste.  O  !  touch  me  not :  I  am  not  Stephano,  but  a 
cramp. 

Pro.  You  'd  be  king  of  the  isle,  sirrah  ? 

Sie.  I  should  have  been  a  sore  one  then. 

Alon.  This  is  as  strange  a  thing  as  e;er  I  look'd  on. 
[Pointing  to  CALIBAN. 

Pro.  He  is  as  disproportion'd  in  his  manners. 
As  in  his  shape. — Go,  sirrah,  to  my  cell ; 
Take  with  you  your  companions  :  as  you  look 
To  have  my  pardon,  trim  it  handsomely. 

Cal.  Ay,  that  I  will ;  and  I  '11  be  wise  hereafter, 
And  seek  for  grace.     What  a  thrice-double  ass 
Was  I.  to  take  this  drunkard  for  a  god, 
And  worship  this  dull  fool  ? 

Pro.  Go  to  ;  away  ! 

Alon.  Hence,  and  bestow  your  luggage  where  you 
found  it. 

Seb.  Or  stole  it,  rather.     [Ex.  CAL..  STE.,  andTnvx. 

Pro.  Sir,  I  invite  your  highness,  and  your  train, 
To  my  poor  cell,  where  you  shall  take  your  rest 
For  this  one  night ;  which,  part  of  it,  I  '11  waste 
With  such  discourse,  as,  I  not  doubt,  shall  make  it 
Go  quick  away ;  the  story  of  my  life, 
And  the  particular  accidents  gone  by, 
Since  I  came  to  this  isle  :  and  in  the  morn, 
1  '11  bring  you  to  your  ship,  and  so  to  Naples, 
Where  I  have  hope  to  see  the  nuptial 
Of  these  our  dear-beloved  solemniz'd  ; 
And  thence  retire  me  to  my  Milan,  where 
Every  third  thought  shall  be  my  grave. 

Alon.  I  long 

To  hear  the  story  of  your  life,  which  must 
Pake  the  ear  strangely. 

Pro.  I  '11  deliver  all  ; 

And  promise  you  calm  seas,  auspicious  gales, 
And  sail,  so  expeditious,  that  shall  catch 
Your  royal  fleet  far  off. — My  Ariel ; — chick. — 
That  is  thy  charge  :  then,  to  the  elements ; 
Be   free,    and    fare   thou    well  ! — Please   you    draM 
near.1 

1  f.  e.  Exeunt. 


66  THE   TEMPEST.  ACT  V 

EPILOGUE. 
SPOKEN  BY  PROSPERO. 

Now  my  charms  are  all  o'erthrown, 
And  what  strength  I  have  's  mine  own; 
Which  is  most  faint :  now,  't  is  true, 
I  must  be  here  confln'd  by  you, 
Or  sent  to  Naples.     Let  me  not, 
Since  I  have  my  dukedom  got, 
And  pardon'd  the  deceiver,  dwell 
In  this  bare  island,  by  your  spell ; 
But  release  me  from  my  bands, 
With  the  help  of  your  good  hands. 
Gentle  breath  of  yours  my  sails 
Must  fill,  or  else  my  project  fails, 
Which  was  to  please.     Now  I  want 
Spirits  to  enforce,  art  to  enchant  j 
And  my  ending  is  despair, 
Unless  I  be  reliev'd  by  prayer ; 
Which  pierces  so,  that  it  assaults 
Mercy  itself,  and  frees  all  faults. 

As  you  from  crimes  would  pardon'd  be, 
Let  your  indulgence  set  me  free. 

[Exeunt  Omnet. 


THE 

TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


"The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona"  was  first  printed  in  the 
folio  of  1628,  where  it  occupies  nineteen  pages,  viz.  from  p. 
20  to  p.  88,  inclusive,  in  the  division  of  "  Comedies."  It  n 
there  divided  into  Acts  and  Scenes.  It  also  stands  second 
in  the  later  folios. 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  only  ascertained  fact  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  in 
Deference  to  "The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,"  is,  that  it  la 
included  in  the  list  of  Shakespeare's  Plays  which  Francis 
Meres  furnished  in  his  PaUadis  Tamia,  1598.  It  cornea  first 
in  that  enumeration,  and  although  this  is  a  very  slight  cir- 
cumstance, it  may  afford  some  confirmation  to  the  opinion, 
founded  upon  internal  evidence  of  plot,  style,  and  diameters, 
that  it  was  one  of  the  earliest,  if  not  the  very  earliest  of  Shake- 
speare's original  dramatic  compositions,  if  is  the  second  play 
in  the  folio  of  1623,  where  it  first  appeared,  but  that  is  no 
criterion  of  the  period  at  which  it  was  originally  written. 

It  would,  we  think,  be  idle  to  attempt  to  fix  upon  any  par- 
ticular year :  it  is  unquestionably  the  work  of  a  young  and 
unpractised  dramatist,  and  the  conclusion  is  especially  inar- 
tificial and  abrupt.  It  may  have  been  written  by  our  great 
dramatist  very  soon  after  he  joined  a  theatrical  company ;  and 
at  all  events  we  do  not  think  it  likely  that  it  was  composed 
subsequently  to  1591.  We  should  be  inclined  to  place  it,  as 
indeed  it  stands  in  the  work  of  Meres,  immediately  before 
"  Love's  Labour 's  Lost."  Meres  calls  it  the  "  Gentlemen  of 
Verona."  Malone,  judging  from  two  passages  in  the  comedy, 
first  argued  that  it  was  produced  in  1595,  but  he  afterwards 
adopted  1591  as  the  more  probable  date.  The  quotations  to 
which  he  refers,  in  truth,  prove  nothing,  either  as  regards 
1595  or  1591. 

If  "  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  "  were  not  the  offspring 
merely  of  the  author's  invention,  we  have  yet  to  discover  the 
source  of  its  plot.  Points  of  resemblance  have  been  dwelt 
upon  in  connection  with  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  "  Arcadia,"  1590, 
and  the  "  Diana  "  of  Montemayor,  which  was  not  translated 
into  English  by  B.  Yonge  until  1598;  but  the  incidents,  com- 
mon to  the  drama  and  to  these  two  works,  are  only  such  as 
might  be  found  in  other  romances,  or  would  present  them- 
selves spontaneously  to  the  mind  of  a  young  poet:  the  one  is 
the  command  of  banditti  by  Valentine ;  ana  the  other  the 
assumption  of  male  attire  by  Julia,  for  a  purpose  nearly  simi- 
lar to  that  of  Viola  in  "Twelfth  Night."  Extracts  from  the 
"Arcadia"  and  the  "Diana"  are  to  be  found  in  "Shake- 
speare's Library,"  vol.  ii.  The  notion  of  some  critics,  that 
"  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona"  contains  few  or  no  marks 
of  Shakespeare's  hand,  is  a  strong  proof  of  their  incompetence 
to  form  a  judgment. 

VOL.  i.  19 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 
Du~s  OF  MILAN,  Father  to  Silvia. 


ANTONIO,  Father  to  Proteus. 
THURIO,  a  foolish  rival  to  Valentine. 
EGLAMOUR,  agent  of1  Silvia  in  her  escape. 
SPEED,  a  clownish  Servant  to  Valentine. 
LAUNCE,  the  like  to  Proteus. 
PANTHINO,  Servant  to  Antonio. 
Host,  where  Julia  lodges. 
Outlaws  with  Valentine. 

JULIA,  beloved  of  Proteus. 
Srz,viA,  beloved  of  Valentine. 
LUCETTA,  Waiting-  woman  to  Julia. 

Servants,  Musicians. 

SCENE  :  sometimes  in  Verona  ;  sometimes  in  Milan 
and  on  the  frontiers  of  Mantua. 

»  for  :  in  f.  •. 


THE 

TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.— An  open  place  in  Verona. 
Enter  VALENTINE  and  PROTEUS. 

Vol.  Cease  to  persuade,  my  loving  Proteus : 
Home-keeping  youth  have  ever  homely  wits. 
Wer  't  not,  affection  chains  thy  tender  days 
To  the  sweet  glances  of  thy  honour'd  love, 
I  rather  would  entreat  thy  company 
To  see  the  wonders  of  the  world  abroad, 
Than,  living  dully  sluggardiz'd  at  home, 
Wear  out  thy  youth  with  shapeless  idleness. 
But  since  thou  lov'st,  love  still,  and  thrive  therein, 
Even  as  I  would,  when  I  to  love  begin. 

Pro.  Wilt  thou  begone?     Sweet  Valentine,  aA..;u. 
Think  on  thy  Proteus,  when  thou  haply  seest 
Some  rare  note-worthy  object  in  thy  travel : 
Wish  me  partaker  in  thy  happiness, 
When  thou  dost  meet  good  hap  ;  and  in  thy  danger, 
If  ever  danger  do  environ  thee, 
Commend  thy  grievance  to  my  holy  prayers, 
For  I  will  be  thy  bead's-man,1  Valentine. 

Vol.  And  on  a  love-book  pray  for  my  success. 

Pro.  Upon  some  book  I  love,  I'll  pray  for  thee. 

Vol.  That 's  on  some  shallow  story  of  deep  love, 
How  young  Leander  cross1  d  the  Hellespont. 

Pro.  That 's  a  deep  story  of  a  deeper  love, 
For  he  was  more  than  over  shoes  in  love. 

Val.  'T  is  true ;  but*  you  are  over  boots  in  love, 
And  yet  you  never  swam  the  Hellespont. 

1  One  who  prays  for  another:  the  word  is  derived  from  the 
dropping  of  a  bead  in  a  rosary,  at  each  prayer  recited.  for : 
in  f.  e. 


72      THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.   ACT  I. 

Pro.  Over  the  boots?  nay,  give  me  not  the  boots.1 

Vol.  No,  I  will  not,  for  it  boots  thee  not. 

Pro.  What? 

Vol.  To  be  in  love  where  scorn  is  bought  with  groans ; 
Coy  looks,  with  heart-sore  sighs ;  one  fading  moment'B 

mirth, 

With  twenty  watchful,  weary,  tedious  nights : 
If  haply  won,  perhaps,  a  hapless  gain ; 
If  lost,  why  then  a  grievous  labour  won : 
However,  but  a  folly  bought  with  wit, 
Or  else  a  wit  by  folly  vanquished. 

Pro.  So,  by  your  circumstance  you  call  me  fool 

Vol.  So,  by  your  circumstance,  I  fear  you'll  prove 

Pro.  'T  is  love  you  cavil  at :  I  am  not  love. 

Vol.  Love  is  your  master,  for  he  masters  you ; 
And  he  that  is  so  yoked  by  a  fool, 
Methinks,  should  not  be  chronicled  for  wise. 

Pro.  Yet  writers  say,  as  in  the  sweetest  bud 
The  eating  canker  dwells,  so  eating  love 
Inhabits  in  the  finest  wits  of  all. 

Vol.  And  writers  say,  as  the  most  forward  bud 
Is  eaten  by  the  canker  ere  it  blow, 
Even  so  by  love  the  young  and  tender  wit 
Is  turn'd  to  folly;  blasting  in  the  bud, 
Losing  his  verdure  even  in  the  prime, 
And  all  the  fair  effects  of  future  hopes. 
But  wherefore  waste  I  time  to  counsel  thee, 
That  art  a  votary  to  fond  desire? 
Once  more  adieu.     My  father  at  the  road 
Expects  my  coming,  there  to  see  me  shipp'd. 

Pro.  And  thither  will  I  bring  thee,  Valentine. 

Vol.  Sweet  Proteus,  no ;  now  let  us  take  our  leave. 
To  Milan  let  me  hear  from  thee  by  letters, 
Of  thy  success  in  love,  and  what  news  else 
Betideth  here  in  absence  of  thy  friend. 
And  I  likewise  will  visit  thee  with  mine. 

Pro.  All  happiness  bechance  to  thee  in  Milan. 

Val.  As  much  to  you  at  home ;  and  so,  farewell.  [Exit. 

Pro.  He  after  honour  hunts,  I  after  love : 
He  leaves  his  friends  to  dignify  them  more; 

'  Supposed  by  Knight  10  refer  to  the  instrument  of  torture,  the 
boot,  by  which  the  sufferer's  \cK  was  crushed  by  wedees  driven  be- 
Iwee.n  it  and  the  boot  in  which  it  was  placed  Collier  sayg  it  it 
«  proverbial  expression,  signifying  "  don't  fciake  a  laughing-Block 


SC.  I.         TflE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  73 

I  leave  myself,  my  friends,  and  all  for  love. 
Thou,  Julia,  thou  hast  metamorphos'd  me; 
Made  me  neglect  my  studies,  lose  my  time, 
War  with  good  counsel,  set  the  world  at  nought, 
Made  wit  with  musing  weak,  heart  sick  with  thought. 
Enter  SPEED. 

Speed.  Sir  Proteus,  save  you.    Saw  you  my  master  ? 

Pro.  But  now  he  parted  hence  to  embark  for  Milan. 

Speed.  Twenty  to  one,  then,  he  is  shipp'd  already, 
And  I  have  play'd  the  sheep  in  losing  him. 

Pro.  Indeed  a  sheep  doth  very  often  stray, 
An  if  the  shepherd  be  awhile  away. 

Speed.  You  conclude,  that  my  master  is  a  shepherd, 
then,  and  I  a  sheep? 

Pro.  I  do. 

Speed.  Why  then,  my  horns  are  his  horns,  whether 
I  wake  or  sleep. 

Pro.  A  silly  answer,  and  fitting  well  a  sheep. 

Speed.  This  proves  me  still  a  sheep. 

Pro.  True,  and  thy  master  a  shepherd. 

r.  Nay,  that  I  can  deny  by  a  circumstance. 
It  shall  go  hard,  but  I  '11  prove  it  by  another. 

Speed.  The  shepherd  seeks  the  sheep,  and  not  the 
sheep  the  shepherd;  but  I  seek  my  master,  and  my 
master  seeks  not  me :  therefore,  I  am  no  sheep. 

Pro.  The  sheep  for  fodder  follow  the  shepherd,  the 
shepherd  for  food  follows  not  the  sheep;  thou  for 
wages  followest  thy  master,  thy  master  for  wages 
follows  not  thee :  therefore,  thou  art  a  sheep. 

Speed.  Such  another  proof  will  make  me  cry  "  baa." 

Pro.  But,  dost  thou  hear  ?  gav'st  thou  my  letter  to 
Julia? 

Speed.  Ay,  sir :  I,  a  lost  mutton,  gave  your  letter  to 
her,  a  laced  mutton1 ;  and  she,  a  laced  mutton,  gave 
me,  a  lost  mutton,  nothing  for  my  labour. 

Pro.  Here  ;s  too  small  a  pasture  for  such  store  of 
muttons. 

Speed.  If  the  ground  be  overcharg'd,  you  were  best 
stick  her. 

Pro.  Nay,  in  that  you  are  a  stray,  't  were  best  pound 
you. 

1  Most  commentators  make  thia  mean,  a  dressed-up  courtesan. 
Knight  suggests  that,  (lace  being  used  in  its  primitive  meaning  of 
any  thing  that  catches  or  secures)  it  means  caught  sheep. 


74     THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.    ACT  L 

Speed.  Nay,  sir,  less  than  a  pound  shall  serve  me 
for  carrying  your  letter. 

Pro.  You  mistake :  I  mean  the  pound,  the  pinfold. 

Speed.  From  a  pound  to  a  pin  ?  fold  it  over  and  over, 
'T  is  threefold  too  little  for  carrying  a  letter  to  your  lover. 

Pro.  But  what  said  she?  did  she  nod? 

Speed   I.  [SPEED  nods. 

Pro.  Nod,  I?  why  that 's  noddy.1 

Speed.  You  mistook,  sir :  I  say  she  did  nod,  and  you 
ask  me,  if  she  did  nod  ?  and  I  say  I. 

Pro.  And  that  set  together,  is  noddy. 

Speed.  Now  you  have  taken  the  pains  to  set  t 
together,  take  it  for  your  pains. 

Pro.  No,  no ;  you  shall  have  it  for  bearing  the  letter. 

Speed.  Well,  I  perceive  I  must  be  fain  to  bear  with  you. 

Pro.  Why,  sir,  how  do  you  bear  with  me? 

Speed.  Marry,  sir,  the  letter  very  orderly;  having 
nothing  but  the  word  noddy  for  my  pains. 

Pro.  Beshrew  me,  but  you  have  a  quick  wit. 

Speed.  And  yet  it  cannot  overtake  your  slow  purse. 

Pro.  Come,  come;  open  the  matter  in  brief:  what 
said  she? 

Speed.  Open  your  purse,  that  the  money,  and  the 
matter,  may  be  both  at  once  delivered. 

Pro.  Well,  sir,  here  is  for  your  pains.  What  said 
she?  [Giving  him  money* 

Speed.  Truly,  sir,  I  think  you  '11  hardly  win  her. 

Pro.  Why  ?  Couldst  thou  perceive  so  much  from  her? 

Speed.  Sir,  I  could  perceive  nothing  at  all  from  her 

better3 ; 

No,  not  so  much  as  a  ducat  for  delivering  your  letter ; 
And  being  so  hard  to  me  that  brought  to  her*  your  mind, 
I  fear  she  '11  prove  as  hard  to  you  in  telling  you  her4  mind. 
Give  her  no  token  but  stones,  for  she  's  as  hard  as  steel.* 

Pro.  What!  said  she  nothing? 

Speed.  No,  not  so  much  as — "  Take  this  for  thy 
pains."  To  testify  your  bounty,  I  thank  you,  you 
have  testern'd7  me;  in  requital  whereof,  henceforth 
carry  your  letters  yourself.  And  so,  sir,  I  '11  commend 
you  to  my  master.  [Exit.9 

Pro.  Go,  go,  be  gone,  to  save  your  ship  from  wreck, 

i  The  old*name  for  the  knatt  or  fool  of  a  pack  of  cards.  »  3  Not  in 
f.  e.  *  to  her  :  not  in  f.  e.  •  telling  your  mind  :  in  f.  e.  6  This 
•peech  is  printed  as  prose  in  f.  e.  'A  testern  is  a  sixpenct 
•  Not  in  f.  e. 


8C.  II.       THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  75 

Which  cannot  perish,  having  thee  aboard, 
Being  destin'd  to  a  drier  death  on  shore. — 
I  must  go  send  some  better  messenger  : 
I  fear  my  Julia  would  not  deign  my  lines, 
Receiving  them  from  such  a  worthless  post.      [Exit.1 

SCENE  II.— The  Same.     Julia's  Garden. 
Enter  JULIA  and  LUCETTA. 

Jul.  But  say,  Lucetta,  now  we  are  alone, 
Wouldst  thou,  then,  counsel  me  to  fall  in  love  ? 

Luc.  Ay,  madam;  so  you  stumble  not  unheedfulljr 

Jul.  Of  all  the  fair  resort  of  gentlemen, 
That  every  day  with  parle  encounter  me, 
In  thy  opinion  which  is  worthiest  love  ? 

Luc.  Please  you,  repeat  their  names,  I  '11  show  my 

mind, 
According  to  my  shallow  simple  skill. 

Jul.  What  think'st  thou  of  the  fair  Sir  Eglamour? 

Luc.  As  of  a  knight  well-spoken,  neat  and  fine  j 
But.  were  I  you,  he  never  should  be  mine. 

Jul.  What  think'st  thou  of  the  rich  Mercutio  ?* 

Luc.  Well,  of  his  wealth :  but  of  himself,  so,  so. 

Jul.  What  think'st  thou  of  the  gentle  Proteus  ? 

Luc.  Lord,  lord  !  to  see  what  folly  reigns  in  us ! 

Jul.  How  now  ?  what  means  this  passion  at  his  name  ? 

Luc.  Pardon,  dear  madam :  't  is  a  passing  shame, 
That  I,  unworthy  body  as  I  am, 
Should  censure  thus  a  loving3  gentleman. 

Jul.  Why  not  o^  Proteus,  as  of  all  the  rest? 

Luc.  Then  thus, — of  many  good  I  think  him  best. 

Jul.  Your  reason  ? 

Luc.  I  have  no  other  but  a  woman's  reason : 
[  think  him  so,  because  I  think  him  so. 

Jul.  And  wouldst  thou  have  me  cast  my  love  on  him? 

Luc.  Ay.  if  you  thought  your  love  not  cast  away. 

Jul.  Why,  he,  of  all  the  rest,  hath  never  mov'd  me. 

Luc.  Yet  he,  of  all  the  rest,  I  think,  best  loves  ye. 

Jul.  His  little  speaking  shows  his  love  but  small. 

Luc.  Fire  that  Js  closest  kept  burns  most  of  all. 

Jul.  They  do  not  love,  that  do  not  show  their  love. 

Luc.  0  !  they  love  least,  that  let  men  know  their  lova 

Jul.  I  would  I  knew  his  mind. 

Luc.  Peruse  this  paper,  madam. 

«  Exeunt :  in  f.  e.    2  Mercatio  :  in  f.  e     »  on  lovely :  in  f.  e. 


76      THK  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.   ACT  I, 

Jul.  "  To  Julia."    Say,  from  whom.   [Gives  a  letter? 

Luc.  That  the  contents  will  show. 

Jul.  Say.  say,  who  gave  it  thee  ? 

Luc.  Sir  Valentine's  page;  and  sent,  I  think,  frorc 

Proteus. 

He  would  have  given  it  you,  but  I,  being  in  the  way, 
Did  in  your  name  receive  it :  pardon  the  fault,  I  pray 

Jul.  Now,  by  my  modesty,  a  goodly  broker  ! 
Dare  you  presume  to  harbour  wanton  lines  ? 
To  whisper  and  conspire  against  my  youth  r 
Now,  trust  me,  't  is  an  office  of  great  wortli, 
And  you  an  officer  fit  for  the  place. 
There,  take  the  paper :  see  it  be  return'd,  [  Gives  it  back* 
Or  else  return  no  more  into  my  sight. 

Luc.  To  plead  for  love  deserves  more  fee  than  hate 

Jul.  Will  you  be  gone  ? 

Luc.  That  you  may  ruminate.     [Exit 

Jul.  And  yet,  I  would  I  had  o'erlook'd  the  letter. 
It  were  a  shame  to  call  her  back  again, 
And  pray  her  to  a  fault  for  which  I  chid  her. 
What  fool  is  she,  that  knows  I  am  a  maid, 
And  would  not  force  the  letter  to  my  view, 
Since  maids,  in  modesty,  say  "  No,"  to  that 
Which  they  would  have  the  profferer  construe,  "  Ay." 
Fie,  fie !  how  wayward  is  this  foolish  love, 
That  like  a  testy  babe  will  scratch  the  nurse, 
And  presently,  all  humbled,  kiss  the  rod. 
How  churlishly  I  chid  Lucetta  hence, 
When  willingly  I  would  have  had  Ijpr  here : 
How  angerly  I  taught  my  brow  to  frown, 
When  inward  joy  enforc'd  my  heart  to  smile. 
My  penance  is  to  call  Lucetta  back, 
And  ask  remission  for  my  folly  past. — 
What  ho!  Lucetta! 

Re-enter  LUCETTA. 

Luc.  What  would  your  ladyship  ? 

Jul.  Is  it  near  dinner-time.  ? 

Lue.  I  would,  it  were ; 

That  you  might  kill  your  stomach  on  your  meat, 
A.nd  not  upon  your  maid. 

[Drops  the  letter,  and  takes  it  up  again* 

Jul.  What  is  ;t  that  you  took  up  so  gingerly  ? 

Luc.  Nothing. 

>  *  Not  in  f.  e.    »  This  direction  is  not  in  i.  e. 


8C.  II.        THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    DF    VERONA.  77 

Jul.  Why  didst  thou  stoop,  then  ? 

Luc.  To  take  a  paper  up 

That  I  let  fall. 

Jul.  And  is  that  paper  nothing  ? 

Luc.  Nothing  concerning  me. 

Jul.  Then  let  it  lie  for  those  that  it  concerns. 

Luc.  Madam,  it  will  not  lie  where  it  concerns, 
Unless  it  have  a  false  interpreter. 

Jul.  Some  love  of  yours  hath  writ  to  you  in  rhyme. 

Luc.  That  I  might  sing  it,  madam,  to  a  tune, 
Give  me  a  note :  your  ladyship  can  set. 

Jul.  As  little  by  such  toys  as  may  be  possible. 
Best  sing  it  to  the  tune  of  "  Light  o;  love." 

Luf.  It  is  too  heavy  for  so  light  a  tune. 

Jul.  Heavy  ?  belike,  it  hath  some  burden  then. 

Luc.  Ay ;  and  melodious  were  it,  would  you  sing  it. 

Jul.  And  why  not  you  ? 

Luc.  I  cannot  reach  so  high. 

Jul.  Let  's   see  your  song. — [Snatching  the  letter.1] 
How  now,  minion  ! 

Luc.  Keep  tune  there  still,  so  you  will  sing  it  out : 
And  yet,  methinks,  I  do  not  like  this  tune. 

Jul.  You  do  not  ? 

Luc.  No,  madam ;  it  is  too  sharp. 

Jul.  You,  minion,  are  too  saucy. 

Luc.  Nay,  now  you  are  too  flat, 

And  mar  the  concord  with  too  harsh  a  descant  :* 
There  wanteth  but  a  mean3  to  fill  your  song. 

Jul.  The  mean  is  drown'd  with  your  unruly  base. 

Luc.  Indeed  I  bid  the  base*  for  Proteus. 

Jul.  This  babble  shall  not  henceforth  trouble  me. 
Here  is  a  coil  with  protestation ! — 

[Tears  the  letter,11  and  throws  it  down. 
Go ;  get  you  gone,  and  let  the  papers  lie : 
You  would  be  fingering  them  to  anger  me.         [better1 

Lu:.  She  makes  it  strange,  but  she  would  be  pleas'd 
To  be  so  anger'd  with  another  letter.  [Exit. 

Jut.  Nay,  would  I  were  so  anger'd  with  the  same  ! 
0  hateful  hands  !  to  tear  such  loving  words  : 
Injurious  wasps,  to  feed  on  such  sweet  honey, 
And  kill  the  bees  that  yield  it  with  your  stings  ! 

1  Not  in  f.  e.  a  "\Vhat  we  now  call  in  music,  a  variation.  3Atencr. 
*  An  allusion  to  the  game  of  base,  or  prison  base,  in  which  one  runs 
m.d  challenges  his  opponent  to  pursue.  *  The  rest  of  this  direction 
m  not  in  f.  e.  6  best  pleased  :  in  f.  e. 


78      THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.   ACT  I. 

I  '11  kiss  each  several  paper  for  amends. 
Look,  here  is  writ —   kind  Julia ;" — unkind  Julia ! 
As  in  revenge  of  thy  ingratitude, 
I  throw  thy  name  against  the  bruising  stones, 
Trampling  contemptuously  on  thy  disdain. 
And  here  is  writ — "  love- wounded  Proteus." — 
Poor  wounded  name  !  my  bosom,  as  a  bed, 
Shall  lodge  thee,  till  thy  wound  be  throughly  heal'd ; 
And  thus  I  search1  it  with  a  sovereign  kiss. 
But  twice,  or  thrice,  was  Proteus  written  down  • 
Be  calm,  good  wind,  blow  not  a  word  away, 
Till  I  have  found  each  letter  in  the  letter, 
Except  mine  own  name ;  that  some  whirlwind  bear 
Unto  a  ragged,  fearful,  hanging  rock, 
And  throw  it  thence  into  the  raging  sea. 
Lo  !  here  in  one  line  is  his  name  twice  writ, — 
"  Poor  forlorn  Proteus ;  passionate  Proteus 
To  the  sweet  Julia  :" — that  I  '11  tear  away ; 
And  yet  I  will  not,  sith  so  prettily 
He  couples  it  to  his  complaining  name.* 
Thus  will  I  fold  them  one  upon  another : 
Now  kiss,  embrace,  contend,  do  what  you  will. 
Re-enter  LUCETTA. 

Luc.  Madam, 
Dinner  is  ready,  and  your  father  stays. 

Jul.  Well,  let  us  go. 

Luc.  What !  shall  these  papers  lie  like  tell-tales  here  ? 

Jul.  If  you  respect  them,  best  to  take  them  up. 

Luc.  Nay,  I  was  taken  up  for  laying  them  down ; 
Yet  here  they  shall  not  lie  for  catching  cold. 

Jul.  I  see,  you  have  a  month's  mind3  unto*  them. 

Luc.  Ay.   madam,   you   may  see  what  sights  you 

think;4 
I  see  things  too,  although  you  judge  I  wink. 

Jul.  Come,  come;  will 't  please  you  go?     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— The  same.     A  Room  in  ANTONIO'S 

House. 

Enter  ANTONIO  and  PANTHINO. 
Ant.  Tell  me,  Panthino,  what  sad"  talk  was  that, 
Wherewith  my  brother  held  you  in  the  cloister? 

i  Probe.  »  names  :  in  f.  e.  »  This  proverbial  expression  is  derived 
from  the  remembrance  or  commemoration  of  the  dead  by  masses. 
for  a  stated  period.— they  were  hence  called  month's  memories.  *  to  • 
<n  f.  e.  »  may  say  what  sights  yo :  see  :  in  f.  e  •  grave  :  in  f.  e 


BC.  III.     THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OP    VERONA.  79 

Pant.  'T  was  of  his  nephew  Proteus,  your  son 

Ant.  Why,  what  of  him  ? 

Pant.  He  wonder'd.  that  your  lordship 

Would  suffer  him  to  spend  his  youth  at  home, 
While  other  men,  of  slender  reputation, 
Put  forth  their  sons  to  seek  preferment  out : 
Some  to  the  wars,  to  try  their  fortune  there , 
Some,  to  discover  islands  far  away; 
Some,  to  the  studious  universities. 
For  any,  or  for  all  these  exercises, 
He  said,  that  Proteus,  your  son,  was  meet, 
And  did  request  me  to  importune  you 
To  let  him  spend  his  time  no  more  at  home, 
Which  would  be  great  impeachment  to  his  age, 
In  having  known  no  travel  in  his  youth. 

Ant.  Nor  need'st  thou  much  importune  me  to  that 
Whereon  this  month  I  have  been  hammering. 
I  have  consider'd  well  his  loss  of  time, 
And  how  he  cannot  be  a  perfect  man, 
Not  being  tried  and  tutor'd  in  the  world  : 
Experience  is  by  industry  achiev'd, 
And  perfected  by  the  swift  course  of  time. 
Then,  tell  me,  whither  were  I  best  to  send  him  ? 

Pant.  I  think,  your  lordship  is  not  ignorant 
How  his  companion,  youthful  Valentine, 
Attends  the  emperor  in  his  royal  court. 

Ant.  I  know  it  well. 

Pant.  ;T  were  good,  I  think,  your  lordship  sent  bin 

thither. 

There  shall  he  practise  tilts  and  tournaments, 
Hear  sweet  discourse,  converse  with  noblemen, 
And  be  in  eye  of  every  exercise, 
Worthy  his  youth,  and  nobleness  of  birth. 

Ant.  1  like  thy  counsel :  well  hast  thou  advis'd  j 
And,  that  thou  may'st  perceive  how  well  I  like  it, 
The  execution  of  it  shall  make  known. 
Even  with  the  speediest  expedition 
I  will  dispatch  him  to  the  emperor's  court. 

Pant .  To-morrow,  may  it  please  you,  Don  Alphonso 
With  other  gentlemen  of  good  esteem, 
Are  journeying  to  salute  the  emperor, 
And  to  commend  their  service  to  his  will. 

Ant.  Good  company;  with  them  shall  Proteus  go: 
And,  in  good  time, — now  will  we  break  with  him 


80  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF   VERON>.       ACT  I, 

Enter  PROTEUS,'  not  seeing  his  Father. 
Pro.  Sweet  love  !  sweet  lines  !  sweet  life ! 
Here  is  her  hand,  the  agent  of  her  heart ; 

[Kissing  a  lettet 

Here  is  her  oath  for  love,  her  honour's  pawn. 
0 !  that  our  fathers  would  applaud  our  loves, 
And  seal  our  happiness  with  their  consents  ! 

0  heavenly  Julia ! 

Ant.  How  now  !  what  letter  are  you  reading  there  ? 

Pro.  May  >t  please  your  lordship,  't  is  a  word  or  two 
Of  commendations  sent  from  Valentine,  [Putting  it  up* 
Deliver'd  by  a  friend  that  came  from  him. 

Ant.  Lend  me  the  letter :  let  me  see  what  news. 

Pro.  There  is  no  news,  my  lord,  but  that  he  writes 
How  happily  he  lives,  how  well  belov'd, 
And  daily  graced  by  the  emperor ; 
Wishing  me  with  him,  partner  of  his  fortune. 

Ant.  And  how  stand  you  affected  to  his  wish? 

Pro.  As  one  relying  on  your  lordship's  will, 
And  not  depending  on  his  friendly  wish. 

Ant.  My  will  is  something  sorted  with  his  wish. 
Muse  not  that  I  thus  suddenly  proceed, 
For  what  I  will,  I  will,  and  there  an  end. 

1  am  resolv'd,  that  thou  shalt  spend  some  time 
With  Valentino*  in  the  emperor's  court : 
What  maintenance  he  from  his  friends  receives, 
Like  exhibition*  thou  shalt  have  from  me. 
To-morrow  be  in  readiness  to  go  : 

Excuse  it  not,  for  I  am  peremptory. 

Pro.  My  lord,  I  cannot  be  so  soon  provided : 
Please  you,  deliberate  a  day  or  two. 

Ant.  Look,  what  thou  want'st  shall  be  sent  after  thee . 
No  more  of  stay ;  to-morrow  thou  must  go. — 
Come  on,  Panthino :  you  shall  be  employ'd 
To  hasten  on  his  expedition. 

[Exeunt  ANTONIO  and  PANTHINO. 

Pro.  Thus  have  I  shunn'd  the  fire  for  fear  of  burning, 
And  drench'd  me  in  the  sea,  where  I  am  drown'd. 
I  fear'd  to  show  my  father  Julia's  letter, 
Lest  he  should  take  exceptions  to  my  love ; 
And,  with  the  vantage  of  mine  own  excuse, 

i  The  rest  of  'his  direction  is  not  in  f.  e.  »  Not  in  f.  e.  »  Valen 
linus  :  in  f.  e.  «  maintenance,  still  in  use  in  this  sense  in  English 
UniveiBities. 


SO.  I.         THE    T\VO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA  81 

Hath  he  excepted  most  against  my  love. 
0  !  how  this  spring  of  love  resembleth 

The  uncertain  glory  of  an  April  day, 
Which  now  shows  all  the  beauty  of  the  sun, 

And  by  and  by  a  cloud  takes  all  away. 
Re-enter  PANTHINO. 

Ant.  Sir  Proteus,  your  father  calls  for  you : 
He  is  in  haste  ;  therefore,  I  pray  you,  go. 

Pro.  Why,  this  it  is :  my  heart  accords  thereto, 
And  yet  a  thousand  times  it  answers  no.          [Exeunt 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.— Milan.    A  Room  in  the  DUKE'S  Palace. 
Enter  VALENTINE  and  SPEED. 

Speed.  Sir,  your  glove. 

Val.  Not  mine ;  my  gloves  are  on. 

Speed.  Why  then  this  may  be  yours,  for  this  is  but 
one. 

Val.  Ha !  let  me  see :  ay,  give  it  me,  it 's  mine. — 
Sweet  ornament  that  decks  a  thing  divine  ! 
Ah  Silvia !  Silvia ! 

Speed.  Madam  Silvia  !  madam  Silvia' 

Val.  How  now.  sirrah  ? 

Speed.  She  is  not  within  hearing,  sir. 

Val.  Why.  sir,  who  bade  you  call  her? 

Speed.  Your  worship,  sir;  or  else  I  mistook. 

Val.  Well,  you'll  still  be  too  forward. 

Speed.  And  yet  I  was  last  chidden  for  being  too  slow. 

Val.  Go  to.  sir.    Tell  me.  do  you  know  madam  Silvia  ? 

Speed.  She  that  your  worship  loves  ? 

Val.  Why,  how  know  you  that  I  am  in  love  ? 

Speed.  Marry,  by  these  special  marks.  First,  you 
I  ave  learn'd,  like  sir  Proteus,  to  wreath  your  arms,  like 
a  mal-content:  to  relish  a  love  sons,  like  a  robin-red- 
breast ;  to  walk  alone,  like  one  that  hath1  the  pestilence; 
to  sigh,  like  a  schoolboy  that  hath  lost  his  A  B  C  :  to 
weep,  like  a  young  wench  that  hath  buried  her  grandarn ; 
to  fast,  like  one  that  takes  diet;  to  watch,  like  one 
that  fears  robbing ;  to  speak  puling,  like  a  beggar  at 
Hallowmas.  You  were  wont,  when  you  laugh' d,  to 
i  had  :  HI  f.  e. 


82      THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA   ACT  II. 

crow  like  a  cock ;  when  you  walk'd,  to  walk  like  one 
of  the  lions ;  when  you  fasted,  it  was  presently  after 
dinner;  when  you  look'd  sadly,  it  was  for  want  of 
money;  and  now  you  are  so1  metamorphosed  with  a 
mistress,  that,  when  I  look  on  you,  I  can  hardly  think 
you  my  master. 

Vol.  Are  all  these  things  perceived  in  me  ? 

Speed.  They  are  all  perceived  without  ye. 

Val.  Without  me  ?  they  cannot. 

Speed.  Without  you?  nay,  that 's  certain;  for,  with- 
out you  were  so  simple,  none  else  would  be* :  but  you 
are  so  without  these  tollies,  that  these  follies  are  within 
you,  and  shine  through  you  like  the  water  in  an  urinal, 
that  not  an  eye  that  sees  you,  but  is  a  physician  to 
comment  on  your  malady. 

Val.  But  tell  me,  dost  thou  know  my  lady  Silvia? 

Speed.  She,  that  you  gaze  on  so,  as  she  sits  at  supper  ? 

Val.  Hast  thou  observed  that  ?  even  she  I  mean. 

Speed.  Why,  sir,  I  know  her  not. 

Val.  Dost  thou  know  her  by  my  gazing  on  her,  and 
yet  know'st  her  not  ? 

Speed.  Is  she  not  hard-favour'd,  sir? 

Val.  Not  so  fair,  boy,  as  well  favour'd. 

Speed.  Sir,  I  know  that  well  enough. 

Val.  What  dost  thou  know  ? 

Speed.  That  she  is  not  so  fair,  as  (of  you)  well- 
favour'd. 

Val.. I  mean,  that  her  beauty  is  exquisite,  but  her 
favour  infinite. 

Speed.  That 's  because  the  one  is  painted,  and  the 
other  out  of  all  count. 

Val.  How  painted?  and  how  out  of  count? 

Speed.  Marry,  sir,  so  painted  to  make  her  fair,  that 
no  man  'counts  of  her  beauty. 

Val.  How  esteem' st  thou  me?  I  account  of  her 
beauty. 

Speed.  You  never  saw  her  since  she  was  deform'd. 

Val.  How  long  hath  she  been  deform'd  ? 

Speed.  Ever  since  you  loved  her. 

Val.  I  have  loved  her  ever  since  I  saw  her,  and  still 
.  see  her  beautiful. 

Speed.  If  you  love  her,  you  cannot  see  her. 

Val.  Why? 

'  »  Not  in  f.  e 


6C.  I.         THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  83 

Speed.  Because  love  is  blind.  0 !  that  you  had 
mine  eyes ;  or  your  own  eyes  had  the  lights  they  were 
wont  to  have,  when  you  chid  at  sir  Proteus  for  going 
ungartered ! 

Vol.  What  should  I  see  then  ? 

Speed.  Your  own  present  folly,  and  her  passing  de- 
ro-mity ;  for  he,  being  in  love,  could  not  see  to  garter 
las  hose ;  and  you,  being  in  love,  cannot  see  to  put  en 
your  hose. 

Vol.  Belike,  boy,  then  you  are  in  love;  for  last 
morning  you  could  not  see  to  wipe  my  shoes. 

Speed.  True,  sir ;  I  was  in  love  with  my  bed.  I 
thank  you,  you  swinged  me  for  my  love,  which  makes 
me  the  bolder  to  chide  you  for  yours. 

Vol.  In  conclusion,  I  stand  affected  to  her. 

Speed.  I  would  you  were  set.  so  your  affection  would 


Val.  Last  night  she  enjoin'd  me  to  write  some  lines 
to  one  she  loves. 

Speed.  And  have  you  ? 

Val.  I  have. 

Speed.  Are  they  not  lamely  writ  ? 

Val.  No,   boy,    but   as  well    as  I  can  do  them.— 
Peace  !  here  she  comes. 

Enter  SILVIA. 

Speed.  0  excellent  motion  I1  0  exceeding  puppet ! 
Now  will  he  interpret  to  her. 

Val.  Madam  and  mistress,  a  thousand  good  morrows. 

Speed.  0  !  'give  ye  good  even :  here  's  a  million  of 
manners.  [Aside* 

Sil.  Sir  Valentine  and  servant,3  to  you  two  thousand. 

Speed.  He  should  give  her  interest,  and  she  gives  it 
him. 

Val.  As  you  enjoin'd  me,  I  have  writ  your  letter 
Unto  the  secret  nameless  friend  of  yours  ; 
Which  I  was  much  unwilling  to  proceed  in, 
But  for  my  duty  to  your  ladyship.      [Giving  a  paper* 

Sil   I  thank  you,  gentle  servant.     'T  is  very  clerkly 
done. 

Val.  Now  trust  me,  madam,  it  came  hardly  off; 
For,  being  ignorant  to  whom  it  goes, 
I  writ  at  random,  very  doubtfully. 

>  A  puppet  show,    a  Not  in  f.  e.    3  An  ol  i  term  for  lover.    *  NcJ 
vr  f.  e. 


84  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF   VERONA.      ACT  11 

Sil.  Perchance  you  think  too  much  of  so  much  pains  ? 

Vol.  No,  madam :  so  it  stead  you,  I  will  write, 
Please  you  command,  a  thousand  times  as  much. 
And  yet — 

Sil.  A  pretty  period.     Well,  I  guess  the  sequel : 
And  yet  I  will  not  name  it ; — and  yet  I  care  not ; — 
And  yet  take  this  again ; — and  yet  I  thank  you, 
Meaning  henceforth  to  trouble  you  no  more. 

Speed.  And  yet  you  will;  and  yet,  another  yet.  [Aside.1 

Val.  What  means  your  ladyship?  do  you  not  like 
it? 

Sil.  Yes,  yes :  the  lines  are  very  quaintly  'writ, 
But  since  unwillingly,  take  them  again. 
Nay,  take  them.  [Giving  it  back* 

Val.  Madam,  they  are  for  you. 

Sil.  Ay,  ay  ;  you  writ  them,  sir,  at  my  request, 
But  I  will  none  of  them :  they  are  for  you. 
I  would  have  had  them  writ  more  movingly. 

Val.  Please  you,  I  '11  write  your  ladyship  another. 

Sil.  And,  when  it 's  writ,  for  my  sake  read  it  over ; 
And  if  it  please  you,  so  ;  if  not,  why,  so. 

Val.  If  it  please  me,  madam ;  what  then  ? 

Sil.  Why,  if  it  please  you,  take  it  for  your  labour  ; 
And  so  good-morrow,  servant.  [Exit. 

Speed.  0  jest !  unseen,  inscrutable,  invisible, 
As  a  nose  on  a  man's  face,  or  a  weathercock  on  a 

steeple. 

My  master  sues  to  her,  and  she  hath  taught  her  suitor, 
He  being  her  pupil,  to  become  her  tutor. 
0  excellent  device  !  was  there  ever  heard  a  better. 
That  my  master,  being  scribe,  to  himself  should  write 
the  letter  ? 

Val.  How  now,  sir  !  what,  are  you  reasoning  with 
yourself  ? 

Speed.  Nay,  I  was  rhyming  :  't  is  you  that  have  the 
reason. 

Val.  To  do  what? 

Speed.  To  be  a  spokesman  from  madam  Silvia. 

Val.  To  whom  ? 

Speed.  To  yourself.     Why,  she  woos  you  by  a  figure 

Val.  What  figure  ? 

Speed.  By  a  letter,  I  should  say. 

Val.  Why,  she  hath  not  writ  to  me  ? 


6C.  if.   THE  TV,*0  GENTLEMEX  OF  VERONA.      85 

Sfseed.  Wliat  need  she,  when  she  hath  made  you 
write  to  yourself?  Why,  do  you  not  perceive  the  jest? 

Vol.  No.  believe  me. 

Speed.  No  believing  you,  indeed,  sir  :  but  did  you 
perceive  her  earnest  ? 

Val.  She  gave  me  none,  except  an  angry  word. 

Speed.  Why,  she  hath  given  you  a  letter. 

Val.  That 's  the  letter  I  writ  to  her  friend. 

Speed.  And  that  letter  hath  she  deliver'd,  and  there 
an  end. 

Val.  I  would  it  were  no  worse  ! 

Speed.  I  '11  warrant  you,  't  is  as  well : 

For  often  have  you  writ  to  her,  and  she,  in  modesty, 
Or  else  for  want  of  idle  time,  could  not  again  reply  ; 
Or  fearing  else  some  messenger,  that  might  her  mind 

discover, 
Her  self  hath  taught  her  love  himself  to  write  unto  hei 

lover. — 

All  this  I  speak  in  print,  for  in  print  I  found  it. — 
Why  muse  you,  sir  ?  't  is  dinner  time. 

Val.  I  have  dined. 

Speed.  Ay,  but  hearken,  sir :  though  the  cameleor. 
love  can  feed  on  the  air,  I  am  one  that  am  nourish'd 
by  my  victuals,  and  would  fain  have  meat.  0  !  be  not 
like  your  mistress :  be  moved,  be  moved.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— Verona.    A  Room  in  JULIA'S  House. 
Enter  PROTEUS  and  JULIA. 

Pro.  Have  patience,  gentle  Julia. 

Jul.  I  must,  where  is  no  remedy. 

Pro.  When  possibly  I  can,  I  will-return. 

Jul.  If  you  turn  not,  you  will  return  the  sooner. 
Keep  this  remembrance  for  thy  Julia's  sake.1 

Pro.  Why  then,  we  HI  make  exchange :  here,  take 
you  this.  .  [Exchange  rings* 

Jul.  And  seal  the  bargain  with  a  holy  kiss. 

Pro.  Here  is  my  hand  for  my  true  constancy ; 
And  when  that  hour  o'er-slips  me  in  the  day, 
Wherein  I  sigh  not.  Julia,  for  thy  sake, 
The  next  ensuing  hour  some  foul  mischance 
Torment  me  for  my  love's  forgetfulness. 
My  father  stays  my  coming;  answer  not. 
The  tide  is  now  :  nay,  not  thy  tide  of  tears ; 

1  giving  a  ring  is  added  in  f.  e.    l  Not  in  f  e 
VOL.  i.  20 


86      THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  ACT  II. 

That  tide  will  stay  me  longer  than  I  should.  [Exit  JULIA 
Julia,  farewell. — What !  gone  without  a  word  ? 
Ay,  so  true  love  should  do  :  it  cannot  speak  ; 
For  truth  hath  better  deeds,  than  words,  to  grace  it. 
Enter  PANTHINO. 

Pant.  Sir  Proteus,  you  are  stay'd  for. 

Pro.  Go ;  I  come,  I  come.— 

Alas  !  this  parting  strikes  poor  lovers  dumb.    [Exeunt. 
SCENE  III.— The  Same.     A  Street. 
Enter  LAUNCE,  leading  his1  Dog. 

Launce.  Nay,  't  will  be  this  hour  ere  I  have  done 
•weeping :  all  the  kind  of  the  Launces  have  this  very 
fault.  I  have  received  my  proportion,  like  the  prodi- 
gious son,  and  am  going  with  sir  Proteus  to  the  impe- 
rial's court.  I  think  Crab,  my  dog,  be  the  sourest- 
natured  dog  that  lives  :  my  mother  weeping,  my  father 
wailing,  my  sister  crying,  our  maid  howling,  our  cat 
wringing  her  hands,  and  all  our  house  in  a  great  per- 
plexity, yet  did  not  this  cruel-hearted  cur  shed  one 
tear.  He  is  a  stone,  a  very  pebble-stone,  and  has  no 
more  pity  in  him  than  a  dog ;  a  Jew  would  have  wept 
to  have  seen  our  parting  :  why,  my  grandam  having  no 
eyes,  look  you,  wept  herself  blind  at  my  parting.  Nay, 
I  '11  show  you  the  manner  of  it.  This  shoe  is  my  father ; 
— no,  this  left  shoe  is  my  father  • — no,  no,  this  left  shoe 
is  my  mother : — nay,  that  cannot  be  so,  neither : — yes, 
it  is  so,  it  is  so ;  it  hath  the  worser  sole.  This  shoe, 
with  the  hole  in  it,  is  my  mother,  and  this  my  father. 
A  vengeance  on 't !  there  't  is  :  now,  sir,  this  staff  is  my 
sister ;  for,  look  you,  she  is  as  white  as  a  lily,  and  as 
small  as  a  wand  :  this  hat  is  Nan,  our  maid  :  I  am  the 
dog ; — no,  the  dog  is  himself,  and  1  am  the  dog, — 0  ! 
the  dog  is  me,  and  I  am  myself :  ay,  so,  so.  Now  come 
1  to  my  father ;  "  Father,  your  blessing  :"  now  should 
not  the  shoe  speak  a  word  for  weeping  :  now  should  I 
kiss  my  father;  well,  he  weeps  on.  Now  come  I  to 
my  mother,  (0,  that  she  could  speak  now  !)  like  a  wild* 
woman : — well,  I  kiss  her ;  why  there  't  is ;  here  's  my 
mother's  breath,  up  and  down.  Now  come  I  to  my 
sister ;  mark  the  moan  she  makes :  now,  the  dog  all 
this  while  sheds  not  a  tear,  nor  speaks  a  word,  but  see 
how  I  lay  the  dust  with  my  tears. 

1  a  Dog :  iu  f.  e.    *  in  f.  e  :  wood  (i  e.  mad) 


6C.  IV.      THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  87 

Enter  PANTHINO. 

Pant.  Launce,  away,  away,  aboard :  thy  master  is 
Bhipped,  and  thou  art  to  post  after  with  oars.  What 's 
the  matter  ?  why  weep;st  thou,  man  ?  Away,  ass ; 
you  '11  lose  the  tide,  if  you  tarry  any  longer. 

Launce.  It  is  no  matter  if  the  tied- were  lost;  for  it 
is  the  unkindest  tied  that  ever  any  man  tied. 

Pant.  What  's  the  unkindest  tide  ? 

Launce.  Why,  he  that 's  tied  here  ;  Crab,  my  dog. 

Pant.  Tut,  man,  I  mean  thou  'It  lose  the  flood;  and, 
iu  losing  the  flood,  lose  thy  voyage ;  and,  in  losing  thy 
voyage,  lose  thy  master ;  and,  in  losing  thy  master,  lose 
thy  service ;  and,  in  losing  thy  service, — Why  dost  thou 
stop  my  mouth  ? 

Launce.  For  fear  thou  should'st  lose  thy  tongue. 

Pant .  Where  should  I  lose  my  tongue  ? 

Launce.  In  thy  tale. 

Pant.  In  thy  tail  ? 

Launce.  Lose  the  tied,  and  the  voyage,  and  the 
master,  and  the  service,  and  the  tide.  Why,  man,  if 
the  river  were  dry,  I  am  able  to  fill  it  with  my  tears ; 
if  the  wind  were  down,  I  could  drive  the  boat  with  my 
sighs. 

Pant .  Come ;  come,  away,  man :  I  was  sent  to  call 
thee. 

Launce.  Sir,  call  me  what  thou  dar'st. 

Pant.  Wilt  thou  go  ? 

Launce.  Well,  I  will  go.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. — Milan.     A  Room  in  the  DUKE'S  Palace. 
Enter  VALENTINE,  SILVIA,  THURIO,  and  SPEED. 
Sil.  Servant. — 
Vol.  Mistress. 

Speed.  Master,  sir  Thurio  frowns  on  you. 
Vol.  Ay,  boy,  it's  for  love. 
Speed.  Not  of  you. 
Val.  Of  my  mistress,  then. 
Speed.  'T  were  good  you  knock'd  him. 
Sil.  Servant,  you  are  sad. 
Val.  Indeed,  madam,  I  seem  so. 
Thu.  Seem  you  that  you  are  not  ? 
Val  Haply,  I  do. 
Thu.  So  do  counterfeits. 
Val.  So  do  you. 


88  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.     ACT  IL 

Thu.  What  seem  I  that  I  am  not? 

Vol.  Wise. 

Thu.  What  instance  of  the  contrary  ? 

Vol.  Your  folly. 

Thu.  And  how  quote1  you  my  folly  ? 

Vol.  I  quote  it  in  your  jerkin. 

Thu    My  jerkin  is  a  doublet. 

Val.  Well,  then,  ;t  will4  double  your  folly. 

Thu.  How? 

Sil.  What,  angry,  sir  Thurio  ?  do  you  change  colo&r? 

Val.  Give  him  leave,  madam :  he  is  a  kind  of  came- 
leon. 

TJiu.  That  hath  more  mind  to  feed  on  your  blood, 
than  live  in  your  air. 

Val.  You  have  said,  sir. 

Thu.  Ay,  sir,  and  done  too,  for  this  time. 

Val.  I  know  it  well,  sir :  you  always  end  ere  you 
begin. 

Sil.  A  fine  volley  of  words,  gentlemen,  and  quickly 
shot  off. 

Val.  'T  is  indeed,  madam  ;  we  thank  the  giver. 

Sil.  Who  is  that,  servant? 

Val.  Yourself,  sweet  lady ;  for  you  gave  the  fire. 
Sir  Thurio  borrows  his  wit  from  your  ladyship's  looks, 
and  spends  what  he  borrows  kindly  in  your  company. 

Thu.  Sir,  if  you  spend  word  for  word  with  me,  I 
bhall  make  your  wit  bankrupt. 

Val.  I  know  it  well,  sir :  you  have  an  exchequer  of 
•words,  and,  I  think,  no  other  treasure  to  give  your  fol- 
lowers ;  for  it  appears  by  their  bare  liveries,  that  they 
live  by  your  bare  words. 

Sil.  No  more,  gentlemen,  no  more.  Here  comes  my 
father. 

Enter  the  DUKE. 

Duke.  Now,  daughter  Silvia,  you  are  hard  beset. 
Sir  Valentine,  your  father  's  in  good  health  : 
What  say  you  to  a  letter  from  your  friends 
Of  much  good  news  ? 

Val.  My  lord,  I  will  be  thankful 

To  any  happy  messenger  from  thence. 

Duke.  Know  you  Don  Antonio,  your  countryman  ? 

Val.  Ay,  my  good  lord ;  I  know  the  gentleman 
To  be  of  wealth3  and  worthy  estimation, 

«  Note  or  observe.    »  I  '11 :  in  f.  e.    »  worth  :  in  f.  e. 


SC.  IV.      THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  89 

And  not  without  desert  so  well  reputed. 

Duke,  lluth  he  not  a  son  ° 

Val.  Ay,  my  good  lord ;  a  son,  that  well  deserves 
The  honour  and  regard  of  such  a  father. 

Duke.  You  know  him  well  ? 

Val.  I  knew  him,  as  myself;  for  from  our  infancy 
We  have  convers'd,  and  spent  our  hours  together : 
A  nd  though  myself  have  been  an  idle  truant, 
Omitting  the  sweet  benefit  of  time 
To  clothe  mine  age  with  angel-like  perfection, 
Yet  hath  sir  Proteus,  for  that  "s  his  name, 
Made  use  and  fair  advantage  of  his  days  : 
His  years  but  young,  but  his  experience  old ; 
His  head  unmellow'd,  but  his  judgment  ripe  j 
And  in  a  word,  (for  far  behind  his  worth 
Come  all  the  praises  that  I  now  bestow) 
He  is  complete  in  feature,  and  in  mind, 
With  all  good  grace  to  grace  a  gentleman. 

Duke.  Beshrew  me.  sir,  but,  if  he  make  this  good, 
He  is  as  worthy  for  an  empress'  love, 
As  meet  to  be  an  emperor's  counsellor. 
Well,  sir.  this  gentleman  is  come  to  me 
With  commendation  from  great  potentates  ; 
And  here  he  means  to  spend  his  time  a-while. 
I  think,  't  is  no  unwelcome  news  to  you. 

Val.  Should  I  have  wish'd  a  thing,  it  had  been  he. 

Duke.  Welcome  him,  then,  according  to  his  worth. 
Silvia,  I  speak  to  you ;  and  you,  sir  Thurio  : — 
For  Valentine,  I  need  not  'cite  him  to  it. 
I  '11  send  him  hither  to  you  presently.         [Exit  DUKI 

Val.  This  is  the  gentleman,  I  told  your  ladyship, 
Had  come  along  with  me.  but  that  his  mistress 
Did  hold  his  eyes  lock'd  in  her  crystal  looks. 

Sil.  Belike,  that  now  she  hath  enfranchis'i  them, 
Upon  some  other  pawn  for  fealty. 

Val.  Nay,  sure,  I  think,  she  holds  them  prisoners 
still. 

Sil.  Nay,   then  he   should    be  blind;    and,   being 

blind, 
How  could  he  see  his  way  to  seek  you  out  ? 

Val.  Why,  lady,  love  hath  twenty  pair  of  eyes. 

Thu.  They  say,  that  love  hath  not  an  eye  at  all. 

Val.  To  see  such  lovers,  Thurio,  as  yourself : 
Upon  a  homely  object  love  can  wink. 


90  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.     ACT    , 

Enter  PROTEUS. 

Sil.  Have  done,  have  done.     Here  comes  the  gen- 
tleman. [Exit  THURIO 

Vol.  Welcome,  dear  Proteus! — Mistress,  I  beseech 

you, 
Confirm  his  welcome  with  some  special  favour. 

Sil   His  worth  is  warrant  for  his  welcome  hither, 
If  this  be  he  you  oft  have  wish'd  to  hear  from. 

Vol.  Mistress,  it  is.     Sweet  lady,  entertain  him 
To  be  my  fellow-servant  to  your  ladyship. 

Sil.  Too  low  a  mistress  for  so  high  a  servant. 

Pro.  Not  so,  sweet  lady;  but  too  mean  a  servant 
To  have  a  look  of  such  a  worthy  mistress. 

Vol.  Leave  off  discourse  of  disability. — 
Sweet  lady,  entertain  him  for  your  servant. 

Pro.  My  duty  will  I  boast  of,  nothing  else. 

Sil.  And  duty  yet  did  never  want  his  meed. 
Servant,  you  are  welcome  to  a  worthless  mistress. 

Pro.  I  '11  die  on  him  that  says  so,  but  yourself. 

Sil.  That  you  are  welcome  ? 

Pro.  That  you  are  worthless. 

1Re-enter  THURIO. 

Thu.  Madam,  my  lord,  your  father,  would  speak 
with  you. 

Sil.  I  wait  upon  his  pleasure :  come,  sir  Thurio, 
Go  with  me. — Once  more,  new  servant,  welcome: 
I  '11  leave  you  to  confer  of  home-affairs; 
When  you  have  done,  we  look  to  hear  from  you. 

Pro.  We  '11  both  attend  upon  your  ladyship. 

[Exeunt  SILVIA,  THURIO,  and  SPEED. 

Vol.  Now,  tell  me,  how  do  all  from  whence  you  came  ? 

Pro.  Your  friends  are  well,  and  have  them  much 
commended. 

Val.  And  how  do  yours  ? 

Pro.  I  left  them  all  in  health. 

Val.  How  does  your  lady,  and  how  thrives  your  love? 

Pro.  My  tales  of  love  were  wont  to  weary  you : 
1  know,  you  joy  not  in  a  love-discourse. 

Val  Ay,  Proteus,  but  that  life  is  alter'd  now : 
I  have  done  penance  for  contemning  love; 
Whose  high  imperious  thoughts  have  punish'd  me 
With  bitter  fasts,  and  penitential  groans, 
With  nightly  tears,  and  daily  heart-sore  sighs; 


SC.  IV.      THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  91 

For.  in  revenge  of  my  contempt  of  love, 

Love  hath  chas'd  sleep  from  my  enthralled  eyes. 

And  made  them  watchers  of  mine  own  heart's  sorrow. 

O,  gentle  Proteus !  love  's  a  mighty  lord 

And  hath  so  humbled  me,  as,  I  confess, 

T  lie  re  is  no  woe  to  his  correction, 

Nor,  to  his  service,  no  such  joy  on  earth ; 

Now,  no  discourse,  except  it  be  of  love ; 

Now  can  1  break  my  fast,  dine,  sup,  and  sleep, 

Upon  the  very  naked  name  of  love. 

Pro.  Enough ;  I  read  your  fortune  in  your  eye. 
Was  this  the  idol  that  you  worship  so? 

Vol.  Even  she ;  and  is  she  not  a  heavenly  saint  ? 

Pro.  No,  but  she  is  an  earthly  paragon. 

Vol.  Call  her  divine. 

Pro.  I  will  not  flatter  her. 

Vol.  0  !  flatter  me,  for  love  delights  in  praises. 

Pro.  When  I  was  sick  you  gave  me  bitter  pills, 
And  I  must  minister  the  like  to  you. 

Val.  Then  speak  the  truth  by  her :  if  not  divine, 
Yet  let  her  be  a  principality, 
Sovereign  to  all  the  creatures  on  the  earth. 

Pro.  Except  my  mistress. 

Val.  Sweet,  except  not  any, 
Except  thou  wilt  except  against  my  love. 

Pro.  Have  I  not  reason  to  prefer  mine  own? 

Val.  And  I  will  help  thee  to  prefer  her,  too  : 
She  shall  be  dignified  with  this  high  honour, — 
To  bear  my  lady's  train,  lest  the  base  earth 
Should  from  her  vesture  chance  to  steal  a  kiss, 
And,  of  so  great  a  favour  growing  proud, 
Disdain  to  root  the  summer-smelling1  flower, 
And  make  rough  winter  everlastingly. 

Pro.  Why,  Valentine,  what  braggardism  is  this  ? 

Val.  Pardon  me,  Proteus :  all  1  can,  is  nothing 
To  her,  whose  worth  makes  other  worthies  nothing. 
She  is  alone. 

Pro.  Then,  let  her  alone. 

Val.  Not  for  the  world.     Why,  man,  she  is  mine 

own  : 

And  I  as  rich  in  having  such  a  jewel, 
As  twenty  seas,,  if  all  their  sand  were  pearl, 
The  water  nectar,  and  the  rocks  pure  gold, 
i  swelling  :  in  f.  e. 


92      THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  ACT  M. 

Forgivn  rne,  that  I  do  not  dream  on  thee, 
Because  thou  seest  me  dote  upon  my  love. 
My  foolish  rival,  that  her  father  likes 
Only  for  his  possessions  are  so  huge, 
Is  gone  with  her  along,  and  I  must  after, 
For  love,  thou  know'st,  is  full  of  jealousy. 

Pro.  But  she  loves  you  ? 

Val.  Ay,    and    we   are  betroth'd;   nay,  more,  oui 

marriage  hour, 

With  all  the  cunning  manner  of  our  flight 
Determin'd  of :  how  I  must  climb  her  window, 
The  ladder  made  of  cords,  and  all  the  means 
Plotted,  and  'greed  on  for  my  happiness. 
Good  Proteus,  go  with  me  to  my  chamber, 
In  these  affairs  to  aid  me  with  thy  counsel. 

Pro.  Go  on  before ;  I  shall  enquire  you  forth. 
I  must  unto  the  road,  to  disembark 
Some  necessaries  that  I  needs  must  use, 
And  then  I  ;11  presently  attend  on1  you. 

Val  Will  you  make' haste? 

Pro.  I  will.—  [Exit  VALENTINE 

Even  as  one  heat  another  heat  expels, 
Or  as  one  nail  by  strength  drives  out,  another, 
So  the  remembrance  of  my  former  love 
Is  by  a  newer  object  quite  forgotten. 
Is  it  mine  own.8  or  ValentinoV  praise, 
Her  true  perfection,  or  my  false  transgression, 
That  makes  me,  reasonless,  to  reason  thus  ? 
She  's  fair,  and  so  is  Julia  that  I  love ; — 
That  I  did  love,  for  now  my  love  is  thawM, 
Which,  like  a  waxen  image  'gainst  a  fire, 
Bears  no  impression  of  the  thing  it  was. 
Methinks,  my  zeal  to  Valentine  is  cold, 
And  that  I  love  him  not,  as  I  was  wont : 
0     but  I  love  his  lady  too  too  much  : 
A  nd  that 's  the  reason  I  love  him  so  little. 
How  shall  T  dote  on  her  with  more  advice, 
That  thus  without  advice  begin  to  love  her  ? 
'T  is  but  her  picture  I  have  yet  beheld. 
A  nd  that  hath  dazzled  so*  my  reason's  light ; 
But  when  I  look  on  her  perfections, 
There  is  no  reason  but  I  shall  be  blind. 

>  Not  in  f.  e.      »  eye  :    in  f.  e      Knight    reads,  "  her  mien  " 
»  Valentii  us' :  in  f.  e.     *  Not  in  f.  e. 


(SC.    V.        THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  93 

If  I  can  check  my  erring  love,  I  will ; 

If  not,  to  compass  her  I  '11  use  my  skill.  [Exit. 

SCENE  V.— The  Same.     A  Street. 
Enter  SPEED  and  LAUNCE. 

Speed.  Launce  !  by  mine  honesty,  welcome  to  Milan. 

Launce.  Forswear  not  thyself,  sweet  youth,  for  I  am 
not  welcome.  I  reckon  this  always — that  a  man  is 
never  undone,  till  he  be  hang'd  ;  nor  never  welcome  to 
a  place,  till  some  certain  shot  be  paid,  and  the  hostess 
say,  welcome. 

Speed.  Come  on,  you  mad-cap,  I  '11  to  the  alehouse 
with  you  presently ;  where  for  one  shot  of  five  pence 
thou  shalt  have  five  thousand  welcomes.  But,  sirrah, 
how  did  thy  master  part  with  madam  Julia  ? 

Launce.  Marry,  after  they  closed  in  earnest,  they 
parted  very  fairly  in  jest. 

Speed.  But  shall  she  marry  him  ? 

Launce.  No. 

Speed.  How  then  ?     Shall  he  marry  her  ? 

Launce.  No,  neither. 

Speed.  What,  are  they  broken  ? 

Launce.  No,  they  are  both  as  whole  as  a  fish. 

Speed.  Why  then,  how  stands  the  matter  with  them  ? 

Launce.  Marry,  thus :  when  it  stands  well  with  him 
it  stands  well  with  her. 

Speed.  What  an  ass  art  thou  ?    I  understand  thee  not. 

Launce.  What  a  block  art  thou,  that  thou  canst  not. 
.  My  staff  understands  me. 

Speed.  What  thou  say'st  ? 

Launce.  Ay,  and  what  I  do  too  :  look  thee  :  I  '11  but 
lean,  and  my  staff  understands  me. 

Speed.  It  stands  under  thee,  indeed. 

Launce.  Why,  stand-under  and  under-stand  is  all  one 

Speed.  But  tell  me  true,  will 't  be  a  match  ? 

Launce.  Ask  my  dog :  if  he  say,  ay,  it  will ;  if  In 
say,  no,  it  will ;  if  he  shake  his  tail,  and  say  nothing, 
it  will. 

Speed.  The  conclusion  is,  then,  that  it  will. 

Launce.  Thou  shalt  never  get  such  a  secret  from 
me,  but  by  a  parable. 

Speed.  'T  is  well  that  I  get  it  so.  But,  Lauace,  ho-w 
say'st  thou,  that  my  master  is  become  a  notatl .  Juver? 

Launce.  I  never  knew  him  otherwise. 


94      THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  ACT  II. 

Speed.  Than  how? 

Launce.  A  notable  lubber,  as  thou  report est  him 
to  be. 

Speed.  Why,  thou  whoreson  ass,  thou  mistak'st  me. 

Launce.  Why,  fool,  I  meant  not  thee  ;  I  meant  thy 
master. 

Speed.  I  tell  thee,  my  master  is  become  a  hot  lover. 

Launce.  Why,  I  tell  thee,  I  care  not  though  he  burn 
himself  in  love,  if  thou  wilt  go  with  me  to  the  ale- 
house: if  not,  thou  art  an  Hebrew,  a  Jew,  and  not 
worth  the  name  of  a  Christian. 

Speed.  Why? 

Launce.  Because  thou  hast  not  so  much  charity  in 
thee,  as  to  go  to  the  ale  with  a  Christian.  Wilt  thou  go  ? 

Speed.  At  thy  service.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.— The  Same.     An  Apartment  in  the 

Palace. 

Enter  PROTEUS. 

Pro.  To  leave  my  Julia,  shall  I  be  forsworn ; 
To  love  fair  Silvia,  shall  I  be  forsworn ; 
To  wrong  my  friend,  I  shall  be  much  forsworn ; 
And  even  that  power,  which  gave  me  first  my  oath, 
Provokes  me  to  this  threefold  perjury  : 
Love  bad  me  swear,  and  love  bids  me  forswear. 

0  sweet-suggesting  love  !  if  I  have1  sinn'd, 
Teach  me.  thy  tempted  subject,  to  excuse  it. 
At  first  I  did  adore  a  twinkling  star, 

But  now  I  worship  a  celestial  sun. 
Unheedful  vows  may  heedfully  be  broken  ; 
And  he  wants  wit,  that  wants  resolved  will 
To  learn  his  wit  t'  exchange  the  bad  for  better. 
Fie,  fie,  unreverend  tongue  !  to  call  her  bad, 
Whose  sovereignty  so  oft  thou  has   preferred 
With  twenty  thousand  soul-confirming  oaths. 

1  oan'not  leave  to  love,  and  yet  I  do; 

But  there  I  leave  to  love,  where  I  should  love. 
Julia  I  lose,  and  Valentine  I  lose : 

'  I  keep  them,  I  needs  must  lose  myself  ; 
If  I  lose  them,  thus  find  I,  by  their  loss, 
For  Valentine,  myself;  for  Julia,  Silvia. 
I  to  myself  am  dearer  than  a  friend, 
For  love  is  still  most  precious  to*  itself; 
1  thou  hast :  in  f.  e.    *  in  :  in  f.  e. 


BC.  VII.    THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  95 

And  Silvia,  (witness  heaven  that  made  her  fair  !) 
Shows  Julia  but  a  swarthy  Ethiope. 
I  will  forget  that  Julia  is  alive, 
Remembering  that  my  love  to  her  is  dead ; 
And  Valentine  I  '11  hold  an  enemy, 
Aiming  at  Silvia,  as  a  sweeter  friend. 
I  cannot  now  prove  constant  to  myself    . 
Without  some  treachery  used  to  Valentine. 
This  night,  he  meaneth  with  a  corded  ladder 
To  climb  celestial  Silvia's  chamber  window ; 
Myself  in  counsel,  his  competitor. 
Now,  presently  I  '11  give  her  father  notice 
Of  their  disguising,  and  pretended1  flight ; 
Who,  all  enrag'd,  will  banish  Valentine, 
For  Thurio,  he  intends,  shall  wed  his  daughter : 
But,  Valentine  being  gone,  I  '11  quickly  cross 
By  some  sly  trick  blunt  Thurio's  dull  proceeding. 
Love,  lend  me  wings  to  make  my  purpose  swift, 
As  thou  hast  lent  me  wit  to  plot  this  drift !          [Exit 
SCENE  VII. — Verona.     A  Room  in  JULIA'S  House. 
Enter  JULIA  and  Luc  ETTA. 

Jul.  Counsel,  Lucetta ;  gentle  girl,  assist  me : 
And,  e'en  in  kind  love,  I  do  conjure  thee, 
Who  art  the  table  wherein  all  my  thoughts 
Are  visibly  character'd  and  engrav'd, 
To  lesson  me ;  and  tell  me  some  good  mean, 
How,  with  my  honour,  I  may  undertake 
A  journey  to  my  loving  Proteus. 

Luc.  Alas  !  the  way  is  wearisome  and  long. 

Jul.  A  true-devoted  pilgrim  is  not  weary 
To  measure  kingdoms  with  his  feeble  steps, 
Much  less  shall  she,  that  hath  love's  wings  to  fly; 
And  when  the  flight  is  made  to  one  so  dear, 
Of  such  divine  perfection,  as  sir  Proteus. 

Luc.  Better  forbear,  till  Proteus  make  return. 

Jul.  O !  know'st  thou  not,  his  looks  are  my  souVi 

food? 

Pity  the  dearth  that  I  have  pined  in, 
By  longing  for  that  food  so  long  a  time. 
Didst  thou  but  know  the  inly  touch  of  love, 
Thou  wouldst  as  soon  go  kindle  fire  with  snow, 
As  seek  to  quench  the  fire  of  love  with  words. 


%  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VEKONA.     ACT  II. 

Luc.  I  do  not  seek  to  quench  your  love's  hot  fire, 
But  qualify  the  fire's  extreme  rage, 
Lest  it  should  burn  above  the  bounds  of  reason. 

Jul.  The  more  thou  damm'st  it  up,  the  more  it  bums 
The  current,  that  with  gentle  murmur  glides. 
Thou  know'st,  being  stopp'd,  impatiently  doth  rag* , 
But,  when  his  fair  course  is  not  hindered, 
He  makes  sweet  music  with  the  enamel'd  stone*, 
Giving  a  gentle  kiss  to  every  sedge 
He  overtaketh  in  his  pilgrimage  ; 
And  so  by  many  winding  nooks  he  strays 
With  willing  sport  to  the  wide1  ocean. 
Then,  let  me  go,  and  hinder  not  my  course. 
I  '11  be  as  patient  as  a  gentle  stream, 
And  make  a  pastime  of  each  weary  step, 
Till  the  last  step  have  brought  me  to  my  lore; 
And  there  I  '11  rest,  as,  after  much  turmoil, 
A  blessed  soul  doth  in  Elysium. 

Luc.  But  in  what  habit  will  you  so  along  ? 

Jul.  Not  like  a  woman,  for  I  would  prevent        \ 
The  loose  encounters  of  lascivious  men. 
Gentle  Lucetta,  fit  me  with  such  weeds 
As  may  beseem  some  well-reputed  page. 

Luc.  Why,  then  your  ladyship  must  cut  your  hair. 

Jul.  No,  girl ;  I  '11  knit  it  up  in  silken  strings, 
With  twenty  odd-conceited  true-love  knots  : 
To  be  fantastic,  may  become  a  youth 
Of  greater  time  than  I  shall  show  to  be. 

Lue.  What   fashion,   madam,   shall    I   make   youi 
breeches  ? 

Jul.  That  fits  as  well,  as—"  tell  me,  good  my  lord, 
What  compass  will  you  wear  your  farthingale?" 
Why,  even  what  fashion  thou  best  lik'st,  Lucetta. 

Luc.  You  must  needs  have  them  with  a  codpiece, 
n  adam. 

Jul.  Out,  out.  Lucetta  !  that  will  be  ill-favour'd. 

Luc.  A  round  hose,  madam,  now 's  not  worth  a  pin, 
U.iless  you  have  a  codpiece  to  stick  pins  on. 

/"/.   Lucetta,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  let  me  have 
What,  thou  think'st  meet,  and  is  most  mannerly. 
But  tell  me,  wench,  how  will  the  world  repute  me 
For  undertaking  so  unstaid  a  journey? 
I  fear  me,  it  will  make  me  scandaliz'd. 


BC.  I.          THE    TWO    GEXTLEMEX    OF    VERONA.  9T 

Luc.  If  you  think  so.  then  stay  at  home,  and  go  not. 

Jul    Nay,  that  I  will  not. 

Luc.  Then  never  dream  on  infamy,  but  go. 
If  Proteus  like  your  journey,  when  you  come, 
No  matter  who's  displeas'd,  when  you  are  gone. 
1  fear  me,  he  will  scarce  be  pleas'd  withal. 

Jul.  That  is  the  least,  Lucetta,  of  my  fear. 
A  thousand  oaths,  an  ocean  of  his  tears, 
And  instances  as  infinite  of  love, 
Warrant  me  welcome  to  my  Proteus. 

Luc.  All  these  are  servants  to  deceitful  men. 

Jul.  Base  men.  that  use  them  to  so  base  effect; 
But  truer  stars  did  govern  Proteus'  birth : 
His  words  are  bonds,  his  oaths  are  oracles ; 
His  love  sincere,  his  thoughts  immaculate ; 
His  tears,  pure  messengers  sent  from  his  heart ; 
His  heart  as  far  from  fraud,  as  heaven  from  earth. 

Luc.  Pray  heaven,  he  prove  so,  when  you  come  to 
him! 

Jul.  Now,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  do  him  not  that  wrong, 
To  bear  a  hard  opinion  of  his  truth : 
Only  deserve  my  love  by  loving  him, 
And  presently  go  with  me  to  my  chamber, 
To  take  a  note  of  what  I  stand  in  need  of, 
To  furnish  me  upon  rny  loving1  journey. 
All  that  is  mine  I  leave  at  thy  dispose, 
My. goods,  my  lands,  my  reputation; 
Only,  in  lieu  thereof,  dispatch  me  hence. 
Come ;  answer  not.  but  to  it  presently : 
I  am  impatient  of  my  tarriance.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I. — Milan.     An  Ante-chamber  in  the  DUKE'S 

Palace. 

Enter  DUKE,  THURIO,  and  PROTEUS. 
Duke.  Sir  Thurio,  give  us  leave.  I  pray,  awhile : 
We  have  some  secrets  to  confer  about. — Exit  THURIO. 
Now,  tell  me,  Proteus,  what's  your  will  with  me? 

Pro.  My  gracious  lord,  that  which  I  would  discover, 
The  law  of  friendship  bids  me  to  conceal  ; 
i  longing  :  in  f.  e. 


!)8      THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  ACT  in. 

But,  when  I  call  to  mind  your  gracious  favours 

Done  to  me,  undeserving  as  I  am, 

My  duty  pricks  me  on  to  utter  that, 

Which  else  no  worldly  good  should  draw  from  me. 

Know,  worthy  Prince,  sir  Valentine,  my  friend, 

This  night  intends  to  steal  away  your  daughter: 

Myself  arn  one  made  privy  to  the  plot. 

I  know  you  have  determin'd  to  bestow  her 

On  Thurio,  whom  your  gentle  daughter  hates; 

And  should  she  thus  be  stol'n  away  from  you, 

It  would  be  much  vexation  to  your  age. 

Thus,  for  my  duty's  sake.  I  rather  chose 

To  cross  my  friend  in  his  intended  drift, 

Than,  by  concealing  it,  heap  on  your  head 

A  pack  of  sorrows,  which  would  press  you  down, 

Being  unprevented,  to  your  timeless  grave. 

Duke.  Proteus,  I  thank  thee  for  thine  honest  care, 
Which  to  requite,  command  me  while  I  live. 
This  love  of  theirs  myself  have  often  seen, 
Haply,  when  they  have  judged  me  fast  asleep, 
And  oftentimes  have  purpos'd  to  forbid 
Sir  Valentine  her  company,  and  my  court ; 
But,  fearing  lest  my  jealous  aim  might  err, 
And  so  unworthily  disgrace  the  man, 
(A  rashness  that  I  ever  yet  have  shunn'd) 
I  gave  him  gentle  looks ;  thereby  to  find 
That  which  thyself  hast  now  disclos'd  to  me. 
And,  that  thou  may'st  perceive  my  fear  of  this, 
Knowing  that  tender  youth  is  soon  suggested, 
I  nightly  lodge  her  in  an  upper  tower, 
The  key  whereof  myself  have  ever  kept; 
And  thence  she  cannot  be  convey'd  away. 

Pro.  Know,  noble  lord,  they  have  devis'd  a  mean 
How  he  her  chamber- window  will  ascend, 
And  with  a  corded  ladder  fetch  her  down 
For  which  the  youthful  lover  now  is  gone, 
Anc  this  way  comes  he  with  it  presently, 
Win  re.  if  it  please  you,  you  may  intercept  him. 
But,  good  my  lord,  do  it  so  cunningly, 
That  my  discovery  be  not  aimed  at; 
For  love  of  you.  not  hate  unto  my  friend, 
Hath  made  me  publisher  of  this  pretence. 

Duke.  Upon  mine  honour,  he  shall  never  know 
That  I  had  any  light  from  thee  of  this. 


SO.  1.         THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  99 

Pro.  Adieu,  my  lord:  sir  Valentine  is  coming. \Exii 
Enter  VALENTINE,'  in  his  cloak. 

Duke.  Sir  Valentine,  whither  away  so  fast  ? 

Val.  Please  it  your  grace,  there  is  a  messenger 
That  stays  to  bear  my  letters  to  my  friends, 
And  I  am  going  to  deliver  them. 

Duke.  Be  they  of  much  import? 

Val.  The  tenor  of  them  doth  but  signify 
My  health,  and  happy  being  at  your  court. 

Duke.  Nay,  then  no  matter :  stay  with  me  awhile 
I  am  to  break  with  thee  of  some  affairs 
That  touch  me  near,  wherein  thou  must  be  secret. 
'Tis  not  unknown  to  thee,  that  I  have  sought 
To  match  my  friend,  sir  Thurio,  to  my  daughter. 

Val.  I  know  it  well,  my  lord;  and,  sure,  the  match 
Were  rich  and  honourable :  besides,  the  gentleman 
Is  full  of  virtue,  bounty,  worth,  and  qualities 
Beseeming  such  a  wife  as  your  fair  daughter. 
Cannot  your  grace  win  her  fancy  to  him? 

Duke.  No,  trust  me  •  she  is  peevish,  sullen,  froward, 
Proud,  disobedient,  stubborn,  lacking  duty; 
Neither  regarding  that  she  is  my  child, 
Nor  fearing  me  as  if  I  were  her  father : 
And,  may  I  say  to  thee,  this  pride  of  hers 
Upon  advice  hath  drawn  my  love  from  her ; 
And,  where  I  thought  the  remnant  of  mine  age 
Should  have  been  cherish'd  by  her  child-like  duty, 
I  now  am  full  resolv'd  to  take  a  wife, 
And  turn  her  out  to  who  will  take  her  in : 
Then,  let  her  beauty  be  her  wedding-dower; 
For  me  and  my  possessions  she  esteems  not. 

Val.  What  would  your  grace  have  me  to  do  in  this? 

Duke.  There  is  a  lady  in  Milanoa  here, 
Whom  I  affect;  but  she  is  nice,  and  coy, 
And  nought  esteems  my  aged  eloquence : 
Now,  therefore,  would  I  have  thee  to  my  tutor, 
(For  long  agone  I  have  forgot  to  court ; 
Besides,  the  fashion  of  the  time  is  chang'd) 
How.  and  which  way,  I  may  bestow  myself, 
To  be  regarded  in  her  sun-bright  eye. 

Val.  Win  her  with  gifts,  if  she  respect  not  words. 
Dumb  jewels  often,  in  theii  silent  kind, 
More  than  quick  words  do  move  a  woman's  mind. 

i  in  his  cloak :  not  in  f.  e.    2  a  lady,  sir,  in  Milan  iere  :  in  f.  ft 


100  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.    ACT  HI 

Duke.  But  she  did  scorn  a  present  that  I  sent  her. 

Vol.  A  woman  sometime  scorns  what  best  contentt 

her. 

Send  her  another ;  never  give  her  o'er, 
For  scorn  at  first  makes  after-love  the  more. 
If  she  do  frown,  't  is  not  in  hate  of  you, 
But  rather  to  beget  more  love  in  you  : 
If  she  do  chide,  't  is  not  to  have  you  gone, 
For  why,  the  fools  are  mad,  if  left  alone. 
Take  no  repulse,  whatever  she  doth  say; 
For  :'  get  you  gone,"  she  doth  not  mean,  "  away." 
Flatter,  and  praise,  commend,  extol  their  graces ; 
Though  ne'er  so  black,  say  they  have  angels'  faces. 
That  man  that  hath  a  tongue,  I  say,  is  no  man, 
If  with  his  tongue  he  cannot  win  a  woman. 

Duke.  But  she  I  mean  is  promis'd  by  her  friends 
Unto  a  youthful  gentleman  of  worth, 
And  kept  severely  from  resort  of  men, 
That  no  man  hath  access  by  day  to  her. 

Vol.  Why,  then  I  would  resort  to  her  by  night. 

Duke.  Ay,  but  the  doors  be  lock'd,  and  keys  kept  safe, 
That  no  man  hath  recourse  to  her  by  night. 

Vol.  What  lets,  but  one  may  enter  at  her  window  ? 

Duke.  Her  chamber  is  aloft,  far  from  the  ground, 
And  built  so  shelving,  that  one  cannot  climb  it 
Without  apparent  hazard  of  his  life. 

Val.  Why  then,  a  ladder  quaintly  made  of  cords, 
To  cast  up,  with  a  pair  of  anchoring  hooks, 
Would  serve  to  scale  another  Hero's  tower, 
So  bold  Leander  would  adventure  it. 

Duke.  Now,  as  thou  art  a  gentleman  of  blood, 
Advise  me  where  I  may  have  such  a  ladder. 

Val.  When  would  you  use  it?  pray,  sir,  tell  me  that. 

Duke.  This  very  night;  for  love  is  like  a  child, 
That  lones  for  every  thing  that  he  can  come  by. 

Val.  By  seven  o'clock  I  '11  get  you  such  a  ladder. 

Duke.  But  hark  thee ;  I  will  go  to  her  alone. 
How  shall  I  best  convey  the  ladder  thither? 

Val.  It  will  be  light,  my  lord,  that  you  may  bear  it 
Under  a  cloak  that  is  of  any  length. 

Duke.  A  cloak  as  long  as  thine  will  serve  the  turn  ? 

Val.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

-frw&e.  Then,  let  me  see  thy  cloak : 

1  '11  get  me  one  of  such  another  length. 


SC.  I.         THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  101 

Veil.  Why  any  cloak  will  serve  the  turn,  my  lord. 

Duke.  How  shall  I  fasl.-'oa  >iiR  to  wear  &  cloak9 — 
I  pray  thee,  let  me  fee1  thy  <-lr>;ik  upon  me..— - 
What  letter  is  this  -u-«e.?  What 's  here;?— «  To  Silvia." 
And  here  an  engine  fit  for  iny.pr oreedi.p^  !        . 

[Ladder  and  letter  fall  out.1 

I  '11  be  so  bold  to  break  the  seal  for  once.  [Reads 

"  My  thoughts  do  harbour  with  my  Silvia  nightly  ; 

And  slaves  they  are  to  me,  that  send  them  flying : 

0  !  could  their  master  come  and  go  as  lightly, 
Himself  would  lodge  where  senseless  they  ar  flying. 

My  herald  thoughts  in  thy  pure  bosom  rest  them; 

While  I,  their  king,  that  thither  them  importune, 
Do  curse  the  grace  that  with  such  grace  hath  blessed  them^ 

Because  myself  do  want  my  servant's  fortune. 

1  curse  myself,  for  they  are  sent  by  me, 

That  they  should  harbour  where  their  lord  should  be." 

What 's  here  ? 

"  Silvia,  this  night  I  will  enfranchise  thee :" 

'T  is  so  :  and  here 's  the  ladder  for  the  purpose. — 

Why,  Phaeton,  (for  thou  art  Merops'  son) 

Wilt  thou  aspire  to  guide  the  heavenly  car, 

And  with  thy  daring  folly  burn  the  world? 

Wilt  thou  reach  stars,  because  they  shine  on  thee? 

Go,  base  intruder  j  over- weening  slave  : 

Bestow  thy  fawning  smiles  on  equal  mates, 

And  think  my  patience,  more  than  thy  desert 

Is  privilege  for  thy  departure  hence. 

Thank  me  for  this,  more  than  for  all  the  favours 

Which,  all  too  much,  I  have  bestow'd  on  thee : 

But  if  thou  linger  in  my  territories 

Longer  than  swiftest  expedition 

Will  give  thee  time  to  leave  our  royal  court, 

By  heaven,  my  wrath  shall  far  exceed  the  love 

I  ever  bore  my  daughter,  or  thyself. 

Begone  :  I  will  not  hear  thy  vain  excuse ; 

But,  as  thou  lov'st  thy  life,  make  speed  from  hence. 

[Exit  DUKE. 

Vol.  And  why  not  death,  rather  than  living  torment  ? 
To  die  is  to  be  banish'd  from  myself, 
And  Silvia  is  myself:  banislrd  from  her, 
Is  self  from  self:  a  deadly  banishment. 
What  light  is  light,  if  Silvia  be  not  seen? 

i  This  direction  is  not  in  f.  e. 
VOL.  i.  21 


102     THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  ACT  IB 

What  joy  is  joy.  if  Silvia  be  not  by? 
Unless  it'ba,  to  think  that  slic  is  by, 
And  feed  upon  the.  sfcadow  of  perfection. 
Except  I  be  ^by_  Silvia,  jn  the  night, 
There  i*  no  tfti.if ic  in  th«h  ni?ihiingale  ; 
Unless"  I  look  oil  Silvia  iritfie  day,' 
There  is  no  day  for  me  to  look  upon. 
She  is  my  essence ;  and  I  leave  to  be, 
If  I  be  not  by  her  fair  influence 
Foster'd,  illumin'd,  cherish'd,  kept  alive. 
I  fly  not  death,  to  fly  his  deadly  doom : 
Tarry  I  here,  I  but  attend  on  death ; 
But  fly  I  hence,  I  fly  away  from  life. 

Enter  PROTEUS  and  LAUNCE. 

Pro.  Run,  boy ;  run,  run,  and  seek  him  out. 

Launce.  So-ho !  so-ho  T 

Pro.  Whatseestthou? 

Launce.  Him  we  go  to  find :  there 's  not  a  hair  on  '• 
head,  but  't  is  a  Valentine. 

Pro.  Valentine? 

Vol.  No. 

Pro.  Who  then  ?  his  spirit  ? 

Val.  Neither. 

Pro.  What  then? 

Val.  Nothing. 

Launce.  Can  nothing  speak?  master,  shall  I  strike? 

Pro.  Whom  wouldst  thou  strike  ? 

Launce.  Nothing. 

Pro.  Villain,  forbear. 

Launce.  Why,  sir,  I  '11  strike  nothing  :  I  pray  you, — 

Pro.  Sirrah,   I  say,  forbear. — Friend    Valentine,  a 
word. 

Val.  My  ears  are  stopp'd,  and  cannot  hear   good 

news, 
So  much  of  bad  already  hath  possess'd  them. 

Pro.  Then  in  dumb  silence  will  I  bury  mine, 
For  they  are  harsh,  untuneable,  and  bad. 

Val.  Is  Silvia  dead  ? 

Pro.  No,  Valentine. 

Val.  No  Valentine,  indeed,  for  sacred  Silvia  ! — 
Hath  she  forsworn  me? 

Pro.  No.  Valentine. 

Val.  No  Valentine,  if  Silvia  have  forsworn  me  !— 
What  is  your  news  ? 


8C.  I.    THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA     103 

Launce.  Sir,  there  is  a  proclamation  that  you  are 
vanish'd. 

Pro.  That  thou  art  banish'd  :  0  !  that  is  the  news; 
From  hence,  from  Silvia,  and  from  me,  thy  friend. 

Vol.  0  !  I  have  fed  upon  this  woe  already, 
And  now  excess  of  it  will  make  me  surfeit. 
Doth  Silvia  know  that  I  am  banished  ? 

Pro.  Ay,  ay ;  and  she  hath  offer'd  to  the  doom, 
(Which,  unrevers'd,  stands  in  effectual  force) 
A  sea  of  melting  pearl,  which  some  call  tears  : 
Those  at  her  father's  churlish  feet  she  tender'd, 
With  them,  upon  her  knees,  her  humble  self; 
Wringing  her  hands,  whose  whiteness  so  became  them, 
As  if  but  now  they  waxed  pale  for  woe  : 
But  neither  bended  knees,  pure  hands  held  up, 
Sad  sighs,  deep  groans,  nor  silver-shedding  tears, 
Could  penetrate  her  uncompassionate  sire, 
But  Valentine,  if  he  be  ta'en,  must  die. 
Besides,  her  intercession  chafd  him  so, 
When  she  for  thy  repeal  was  suppliant, 
That  to  close  prison  he  commanded  her, 
With  many  bitter  threats  of  'biding  there. 

Vol.  No  more  •    unless    the  next  word   that   thou 

speak'st 

Have  some  malignant  power  upon  my  life : 
If  so,  I  pray  thee,  breathe  it  in  my  ear, 
As  ending  anthem  of  my  endless  dolour. 

Pro.  Cease  to  lament  for  that  thou  canst  not  help, 
And  study  help  for  that  which  thou  lamentest. 
Time  is  the  nurse  and  breeder  of  all  good. 
Here  if  thou  stay,  thou  canst  not  see  thy  love ; 
Besides,  thy  staying  will  abridge  thy  life. 
Hope  is  a  lover's  staff;  walk  hence  with  that, 
And  manage  it  against  despairing  thoughts. 
Thy  letters  may  be  here,  though  thou  art  hence ; 
Which,  being  writ  to  me,  shall  be  deliver'd 
Even  in  the  milk-white  bosom  of  thy  love. 
The  time  now  serves  not  to  expostulate  : 
Come,  T  '11  convey  thee  through  the  city-gate, 
And,  ere  I  part  with  thee,  confer  at  large 
Of  all  that  may  concern  thy  love  affairs. 
As  thou  lov'st  Silvia,  though  not  for  thyself, 
Regard  thy  danger,  and  along  with  me. 

Val.  I  pray  thee,  Launce,  an  if  thou  seest  my  boy, 


104     THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  ACT  III. 

Bid  him  make  haste,  and  meet  me  at  the  north-gate. 

Pro.  Go,  sirrah,  find  him  out.     Come,  Valentine. 

Veil.  0  my  dear  Silvia !  hapless  Valentine ! 

[Exeunt  VALENTINE  and  PROTEUS. 

Launce.  I  am  but  a  fool,  look  you,  and  yet  I  have 
the  wit  to  think,  my  master  is  a  kind  of  a  knave ;  but 
that 's  all  one,  if  he  be  but  one  knave.  He  lives  not 
now,  that  knows  me  to  be  in  love :  yet  I  am  in  love ; 
but  a  team  of  horse  shall  not  pluck  that  from  me,  nor 
who  't  is  I  love ;  and  yet  't  is  a  woman  :  but  what 
woman,  I  will  not  tell  myself ;  and  yet  't  is  a  milk- 
maid ;  yet  't  is  not  a  maid,  for  she  hath  had  gossips : 
yet  't  is  a  maid,  for  she  is  her  master's  maid,  and  serves 
for  wages.  She  hath  more  qualities  than  a  water- 
spaniel,  which  is  much  in  a  bare  Christian.  Here  is 
the  cat-log  [pulling  out  a  paper]  of  her  conditions. 
Imprimis,  "  She  can  fetch  and  carry."  Why,  a  horse 
can  do  no  more :  nay,  a  horse  cannot  fetch,  but  only 
carry;  therefore,  is  she  better  than  a  jade.  Item, 
"  She  oan  milk ;"  look  you,  a  sweet  virtue  in  a  maid 
with  clean  hands. 

Enter  SPEED.  , 

Speed.  How  now,  signior  Launce?  what  news  with 
your  mastership  ? 

Launce.  With  my  master's  ship  ?  why,  it  is  at  sea. 

Speed.  Well,  your  old  vice  still  •  mistake  the  word. 
What  news,  then,  in  your  paper  ? 

Launce.  The  blackest  news  that  ever  thou  heard'st. 

Speed.  Why,  man,  how  black  ? 

Launce.  Why,  as  black  as  ink. 

Speed.  Let  me  read  them. 

Launce.  Fie  on  thee,  jolt-head !    thou    canst   not 
read. 

Speed.  Thou  liest,  I  can. 

Launce.  I  will  try  thee.     Tell  me  this  :  who  begot 
thee? 

Speed.  Marry,  the  son  of  my  grandfather 

Launce.  0,  illiterate  loiterer  !  it  was  the  son  of  thy 
grandmother.  This  proves  that  thou  canst  not  read. 

Speed.  Come,  fool,  come  :  try  me  in  thy  paper. 

Launce.  There,  and  saint  Nicholas  be  thy  speed  ! 

Speed.  Imprimis,  "  She  can  milk." 

Launce.  Ay.  that  she  can. 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  brews  good  ale." 


SC.  I.         THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  105 

Launce.  And  thereof  comes  the  proverb, — Blessing 
of  your  heart,  you  brew  good  ale. 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  can  sew." 

Launce.  That 's  as  much  as  to  say.  Can  she  so  ? 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  can  knit.'; 

Launce.  What  need  a  man  care  for  a  stock  with  a 
wench,  when  she  can  knit  him  a  stock  ? 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  can  wash  and  scour." 

Launce.  A  special  virtue  •  for  then  she  need  not  be 
waslrd  and  scour'd. 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  can  spin." 

Launce.  Then  may  I  set  the  world  on  wheels,  when 
she  can  spin  for  her  living. 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  hath  many  nameless  virtues." 

Launce.  That 's  as  much  as  to  say,  bastard  virtues ; 
that,  indeed,  know  not  their  fathers,  and  therefore 
have  no  names. 

Speed.  Here  follow  her  vices. 

Launce.  Close  at  the  heels  of  her  virtues. 

Speed.  Item.  "  She  is  not  to  be  kissed  fasting,  in 
respect  of  her  breath." 

Launce.  Well,  that  fault  may  be  mended  with  a 
breakfast.  Read  on. 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  hath  a  sweet  moi  th." 

Launce.  That  makes  amends  for  her  sour  breath. 

Speed.  Item.  "  She  doth  talk  in  her  sleep." 

Launce.  It 's  no  matter  for  that,  so  she  slip  not  in 
her  talk. 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  is  slow  in  words." 

Launce.  O  villain  !  that  set  this  down  among  her 
vices  ?  To  be  slow  in  words  is  a  woman's  only  virtue : 
[  pray  thee,  out  with  't,  and  place  it  for  her  chief  virtue. 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  is  proud." 

Launce.  Out  with  that  too :  it  was  Eve's  legacy, 
and  cannot  be  ta'en  from  her. 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  hath  no  teeth." 

Launce.  I  care  not  for  that  neither,  because  I  love 
crusts. 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  is  curst." 

Launce.  Well ;  the  best  is,  she  hath  no  teeth  to  bite. 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  will  often  praise  her  liquor." 

Launce.  If  her  liquor  be  good,  she  shall :  if  she  will 
not.  I  will ;  for  good  tilings  should  be  praised. 

Speed.  Item,  "She  is  too  liberal." 


JOG  THE   TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.    ACT  lit 

Launce.  Of  her  tongue  she  cannot,  for  that 's  writ 
down  she  is  slow  of:  of  her  purse  she  shall  not,  for 
that  I  '11  keep  shut :  now,  of  another  thing  she  may,  and 
that  cannot  I  help.  Well,  proceed. 

Speed.  Item.  "  She  hath  more  hair  than  wit,  and 
more  faults  than  hairs,  and  more  wealth  than 
faults." 

Launce.  Stop  there;  I'll  have  her:  she  was  mine, 
and  not  mine,  twice  or  thrice  in  that  last  article. 
Rehearse  that  once  more. 

Speed.  Item,  "  She  hath  more  hair  than  wit," — 

Launce.  More  hair  than  wit, — it  may  be ;  I  '11  prove 
it :  the  cover  of  the  salt  hides  the  salt,  and  therefore 
it  is  more  than  the  salt :  the  hair,  that  covers  the  wit, 
is  more  than  the  wit,  for  the  greater  hides  the  less. 
What 's  next  ? 

Speed.  — "  And  more  faults  than  hairs." — 

Launce.  That 's  monstrous  :  0,  that  that  were  out ! 

Speed.  — "  And  more  wealth  than  faults." 

Launce.  Why,  that  word  makes  the  faults  gracious. 
Well,  I  '11  have  her;  and  if  it  be  a  match,  as  nothing 
is  impossible, — 

Speed.  What  I  hen  ? 

Launce.  Wh>  ,  then  will  I  tell  thee, — that  thy  master 
stays  for  thee  at  the  north-gate. 

Speed.  For  me  ? 

Launce.  For  thee  ?  ay ;  who  art  thou  ?  he  hath 
stay'd  for  a  better  man  than  thee. 

Speed.  And  must  I  go  to  him  ? 

Launce.  Thou  must  run  to  him,  for  thou  hast  stay'd 
BO  long,  that  going  will  scarce  serve  the  turn. 

Speed.  Why  didst  not  tell  me  sooner  ?  pox  of  your 
love-letters  !  [Exit,  running.1 

Launce.  Now  will  he  be  swing'd  for  reading  my 
letter.  An  unmannerly  slave,  that  will  thrust  himself 
into  secrets. — I  '11  after,  to  rejoice  in  the  boy's  cor- 
rection. [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— The  Same.     An  Apartment  in  the 

DUKE'S  Palace. 
Enter  DUKE  and  THURIO. 

Duke.  Sir  Thurio,  fear  not  but  that  she  will  love  you, 
Now  Valentine  is  banish'd  from  her  sight. 
'  running :  not  in  f.  e. 


BC.  II.        THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  107 

Tku.  Since  his  exile  she  hath  despis'd  me  most ; 
Forsworn  my  company,  and  rail'd  at  me, 
That  I  am  desperate  of  obtaining  her. 

Duke.  This  weak  impress  of  love  is  as  a  figure 
Trenched  in  ice,  which  with  an  hour's  heat 
Dissolves  to  water,  and  doth  lose  his  form. 
A  little  time  will  melt  her  frozen  thoughts, 
And  worthless  Valentine  shall  be  forgot. —  t 

Enter  PROTEUS. 

How  now,  sir  Proteus  !     Is  your  countryman, 
According  to  our  proclamation,  gone  ? 

Pro.  Gone,  my  good  lord. 

Duke.  My  daughter  takes  his  going  grievously. 

Pro.  A  little  time,  my  lord,  will  kill  that  grief. 

Duke.  So  I  believe ;  but  Thurio  thinks  not  so. 
Proteus,  the  good  conceit  I  hold  of  thee, 
(For  thou  hast  shown  sure1  sign  of  good  desert) 
Makes  me  the  better  to  confer  with  thee. 

Pro.  Longer  than  I  prove  loyal  to  your  grace, 
Let  me  not  live  to  look  upon  your  grace. 

Duke.  Thou  know'st  how  willingly  I  would  effect 
The  match  between  sir  Thurio  and  my  daughter. 

Pro.  I  do.  my  lord. 

Duke.  And  also,  I  think,  thou  art  not  ignorant 
How  she  opposes  her  against  my  will. 

Pro.  She  did,  my  lord,  when  Valentine  was  here. 

Duke.  Ay,  and  perversely  she  persevers  so. 
What  might  we  do  to  make  the  girl  forget 
The  love  of  Valentine,  and  love  sir  Thurio  ? 

Pro.  The  best  way  is,  to  slander  Valentine 
With  falsehood,  cowardice,  and  poor  descent; 
Three  things  that  women  highly  hold  in  hate. 

Duke.  Ay,    but   she  '11  think   that   it   is   spoke   in 
hate. 

Pro.  Ay,  if  his  enemy  deliver  it : 
Therefore,  it  must,  with  circumstance,  be  spoken 
By  one  whom  she  esteemeth  as  his  friend. 

Duke.  Then,  you  must  undertake  to  slander  him. 

Pro.  And  that,  my  lord,  I  shall  be  loth  to  do : 
•T  is  an  ill  office  for  a  gentleman, 
Especially,  against  his  very  friend. 

Duke.  Where  your  good  word  cannot  advantage  him. 
Your  slander  never  can  endamage  htm  : 


108  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.    ACT  III. 

Therefore,  the  office  is  indifferent, 
Being  entreated  to  it  by  your  friend. 

Pro.  You  have  prevailed,  my  lord.     If  I  can  do  it 
By  aught  that  I  can  speak  in  his  dispraise, 
She  shall  not  long  continue  love  to  him. 
But  say,  this  wean1  her  love  from  Valentine, 
It  follows  not  that  she  will  love  sir  Thurio. 

Thu.  Therefore,  as  you  unwind  her  love  from  him, 
Lest  it  should  ravel  and  be  good  to  none, 
You  must  provide  to  bottom  it  on  me ; 
Which  must  be  done,  by  praising  me  as  much 
As  you  in  worth  dispraise  sir  Valentine. 

Duke.  And,  Proteus,  we  dare  trust  you  in  this  kind 
Because  we  know,  on  Valentine's  report, 
You  are  already  love's  firm  votary, 
And  cannot  soon  revolt,  and  change  your  mind. 
Upon  this  warrant  shall  you  have  access 
Where  you  with  Silvia  may  confer  at  large ; 
For  she  is  lumpish,  heavy,  melancholy, 
And  for  your  friend's  sake  will  be  glad  of  you, 
When  you  may  temper  her,  by  your  persuasion, 
To  hate  young  Valentine,  and  love  my  friend. 

Pro.  As  much  as  I  can  do  I  will  effect. 
But  you,  sir  Thurio,  are  not  sharp  enough ; 
You  must  lay  lime  to  tangle  her  desires 
By  wailful  sonnets,  whose  composed  rhymes 
Should  be  full  fraught  with  serviceable  vows. 

Duke.  Ay,  much  is  the  force  of  heaven-bred  poesy. 

Pro.  Say,  that  upon  the  altar  of  her  beauty 
You  sacrifice  your  tears,  your  sighs,  your  heart. 
Write,  till  your  ink  be  dry,  and  with  your  tears 
Moist  it  again :  and  frame  some  feeling  line, 
That  may  discover  strict  integrity  : 
For  Orpheus'  lute  was  strung  with  poets'  sinews, 
Whose  golden  touch  could  soften  steel  and  stones, 
Make  tigers  tame,  and  huge  leviathans 
Forsake  unsounded  deeps  to  dance  on  sands. 
After  your  dire-lamenting  elegies, 
Visit  by  night  your  lady's  chamber  window 
With  some  sweet  consort  :  to  their  instruments 
Tune  a  deploring  dump ;  the  night's  dead  silence 
Will  well  become  such  sweet  complaining  grievance 
This,  or  else  nothing,  will  inherit  her. 


SC.  I.         THE    TWO    GENTLEMh-N    OF    VERONA.  109 

Duke.  This  discipline  shows  thou  hast  been  in  love. 

Thu.  And  thy  advice  this  night  I  '11  put  in  practice. 
Therefore,  sweet  Proteus,  my  direction-giver, 
Let  us  into  the  city  presently, 
To  sort  some  gentlemen  well-skill'd  in  music. 
I  have  a  sonnet  that  will  serve  the  turn 
To  give  the  onset  to  thy  good  advice. 

Duke.  About  it,  gentlemen. 

Pro.  We  '11  wait  upon  your  grace  till  after  supper, 
And  afterward  determine  our  proceedings. 

Duke.  Even  now  about  it :  I  will  pardon  you.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.— A  Forest,  between  Milan  and  Verona. 
Enter  certain  Outlaws. 

1  Out.  Fellows,  stand  fast :  I  see  a  passenger. 

2  Out.  If  there  be  ten,  shrink  not,  but  down  with  'em. 

Enter  VALENTINE  and  SPEED. 

3  Out .  Stand,  sir,  and  throw  us  that  you  have  about 

you; 
If  not,  we  '11  make  you  sit,  and  rifle  you. 

Speed.  Sir,  we  are  undone.     These  are  the  villains 
That  all  the  travellers  do  fear  so  much. 

Vol.  My  friends, — 

1  Out.  That's  not  so,  sir:  we  are  your  enemies. 

2  Out.  Peace!  we'll  hear  him. 

3  Out.  Ay,  by  my  beard,  will  we ;  for  he  is  a  proper 

man. 

Vol.  Then  know,  that  I  have  little  wealth  to  lose. 
A  man  I  am  cross'd  with  adversity : 
My  riches  are  these  poor  habiliments, 
Of  which  if  you  should  here  disfurnish  me, 
You  take  the  sum  and  substance  that  I  have. 

2  Out.  Whither  travel  you? 
Vol.  To  Verona. 

1  Out.  Whence  came  you? 
Vol.  From  Milan. 

3  Out.  Have  you  long  sojourn'd  there? 

Vol.  Some  sixteen  months;  and  longer  might  have 

stay'd. 
If  crooked  fortune  had  not  thwarted  me. 


110  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.     ACT  IV, 

2  Out.  What!  were  you  banish'd  thence? 
Vol.  I  was. 

2  Out.  For  what  offence? 

Vol.  For  that  which  now  torments  me  to  rehearse, 
I  kill;d  a  man.  whose  death  I  much  repent ; 
But  yet  I  slew  him  manfully,  in  fight, 
Without  false  vantage,  or  base  treachery. 

1  Out.  Why,  ne'er  repent  it,  if  it  were  done  so. 
But  were  you  banish'd  for  so  small  a  fault? 

Vol.  I  was,  and  held  me  glad  of  such  a  doom. 

1  Out.  Have  you  the  tongues  ? 

Vol.  My  youthful  travel  therein  made  me  happy, 
Or  else  I  had  been  often  miserable. 

3  Out.  By  the  bare  scalp  of  Robin  Hood's  fat  friar, 
This  fellow  were  a  king  for  our  wild  faction. 

1  Out.  We  '11  have  him.     Sirs,  a  word. 

[They  talk  apart.1 
Speed.  Master,  be  one  of  them  : 
It  is  an  honourable  kind  of  thievery. 
Vol.  Peace,  villain ! 

2  Out.  Tell  us  this  :  have  you  any  thing  to  take  to? 
Val.  Nothing,  but  my  fortune. 

3  Out.  Know  then,  that  some  of  us  are  gentlemen, 
Such  as  the  fury  of  ungovern'd  youth 

Thrust  from  the  company  of  awful  men : 
Myself  was  from  Verona  banished, 
For  practising  to  steal  away  a  lady. 
An  heir,  and  near  allied  unto  the  duke. 

2  Out.  And  I  from  Mantua,  for  a  gentleman, 
Who.  in  my  mood,  I  stabb'd  unto  the  heart. 

1  Out.  And  I,  for  such  like  petty  crimes  as  these. 
But  to  the  purpose  ;  for  we  cite  our  faults, 
That  they  may  hold  excus'd  our  lawless  lives  : 
And,  partly,  seeing  you  are  beautify'd 
With  goodly  shape ;  and  by  your  own  report 
A  linguist,  and  a  man  of  such  perfection, 
As  we  do  in  our  quality  much  want — 

3  Out.  Indeed,  because  you  are  a  banish'd  man, 
Therefore,  above  the  rest,  we  parley  to  you. 

Are  you  content  to  be  our  general  ? 
To  make  a  virtue  of  necessity, 

And  live,  as  we  do,  in  this  wilderness?  [consort? 

3  Out.  What   say'st   thou?   wilt    thou   be    of   our 
i  Not  in  f.  e. 


8C.  II.   THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.     Ill 

Say,  ay.  and  be  the  captain  of  us  all. 

We  '11  do  thee  homage,  and  be  rul'd  by  thee, 

Love  thee  as  our  commander,  and  our  king. 

1  Out.  But  if  thou  scorn  our  courtesy,  thou  diest. 

2  Out.  Thou  shalt  not  live  to  brag  what  we  have 

offerd. 

Val.  I  take  your  offer,  and  will  live  with  you : 
Provided  that  you  do  no  outrages 
On  silly  women,  or  poor  passengers. 

3  Out.  No;  we  detest  such  vile,  base  practices. 
Come,  go  with  us :  we  '11  bring  thee  to  our  cave,1 
And  show  thee  all  the  treasure  we  have  got, 
Which,  with  ourselves,  all  rest  at  thy  dispose. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— Milan.     The  Court  of  the  Palace. 
Enter  PROTEUS. 

Pro.  Already  have  I  been  false  to  Valentine, 
And  now  I  must  be  as  unjust  to  Thurio. 
Under  the  colour  of  commending  him, 
I  have  access  my  own  love  to  prefer ; 
But  Silvia  is  too  fair,  too  true,  too  holy, 
To  be  corrupted  with  my  worthless  gifts. 
When  I  protest  true  loyalty  to  her, 
She  twits  me  with  my  falsehood  to  my  friend  ; 
When  to  her  beauty  I  commend  my  vows, 
She  bids  me  think  how  I  have  been  forsworn, 
In  breaking  faith  with  Julia  whom  I  lov'd : 
And,  notwithstanding  all  her  sudden  quips, 
The  least  whereof  would  quell  a  lover's  hope, 
Yet,  spaniel-like,  the  more  she  spurns  my  love, 
The  more  it  grows,  and  fawneth  on  her  still. 
But   here    comes    Thurio.      Now    must    we    to    hei 

window, 

And  give  some  evening  music  to  her  ear. 
Enter  THURIO,  and  Musicians. 

Thu.  How  now,  sir  Proteus  !  are  you  crept  before  us  ? 

Fro.  Ay,  gentle  Thurio ;  for,  you  know,  that  love 
Will  creep  in  service  where  it  cannot  go. 

Thu.  Ay;  but  I  hope,  sir,  that  you  love  not  here. 

Pro.  Sir,  but  I  do ;  or  else  I  would  be  hence. 

Thu.  Whom?  Silvia? 

Pro.  Ay,  Silvia, — for  your  sake, 
crews  :  in  f.  e. 


112  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF   VERONA.    ACT  IV. 

Thu.  I  thank  you  for  your  own.     Now,  gentlemen, 
Let 's  tune,  and  to  it  lustily  awhile. 

Enter  Host  and  JULIA  (in  boy's  clothes),  behind. 

Host.  Now,  my  young  guest ;  methinks  you;re  ally- 
cholly :  I  pray  you,  why  is  it  ? 

Jul.  Marry,  mine  host,  because  I  cannot  be  merry. 

Host.  Come,  we  '11  have  you  merry.  I  '11  bring  you 
where  you  shall  hear  music,  and  see  the  gentlemen 
that  you  ask'd  for. 

Jul.  But  shall  I  hear  him  speak  ? 

Host.  Ay,  that  you  shall. 

Jul.  That  will  be  music.  [Music  plays 

Host.  Hark  !  Hark  ! 

Jul.  Is  he  among  these  ? 

Host.  Ay;  but  peace  !  let 's  hear 'em. 

SONG. 
Who  is  Silvia  ?  what  is  she, 

That  all  our  swains  commend  her  ? 
Holy,  fair,  and  wise  as  free  ;l 

The  heaven  such  grace  did  lend  her, 
That  she  might  admired  be. 

Is  she  kind,  as  she  is  fair, 

For  beauty  lives  with  kindness  ? 

Love  doth  to  her  eyes  repair, 
To  help  him  of  his  blindness  / 

And,  being  helped,  inhabits  there. 

Then  to  Silvia  let  us  sing, 

That  Silvia  is  excelling  ; 
She  excels  each  mortal  thing, 

Upon  the  dull  earth  dwelling : 
To  her  let  us  garlands  bring. 

Host.  How  now!  are  you  sadder  than  you  were 
before?  How  do  you,  man?  the  music  likes  you  not. 

Jul.  You  mistake  :  the  musician  likes  me  not. 

Host.  Why.  my  pretty  youth? 

Jul.  He  plays  false,  father. 

Host.  How  ?  out  of  tune  on  the  strings  ? 

/«/.  Not  so;  but  yet  so  false,  that  he  grieves  my 
rery  heart-strings. 

Host.  You  have  a  quick  ear. 

i  is  she  :  in  f.  e. 


SC.  II.   THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.     113 

Jul.  Ay ;  I  would  I  were  deaf !  it  makes  me  have  a 
slow  heart. 

Host.  I  perceive,  you  delight  not  in  music. 

Jul.  Not  a  whit,  when  it  jars  so.  [Music  plays  again.1 

Host.  Hark  !  what  fine  change  is  in  the  music. 

Jul.  Ay,  that  change  is  the  spite. 

Host.  You  would  not  have  them  always  play  hut 
one  thing? 

Jul.  1  would  always  have  one  play  hut  one  thing. 
But,  Host,  doth  this  sir  Proteus,  that  we  talk  on, 
Often  resort  unto  this  gentlewoman? 

Host.  I  tell  you  what  Launce,  his  man,  told  me,  he 
lov'd  her  out  of  all  nick. 

Jul.  Where  is  Launce  ? 

Host.  Gone  to  seek  his  dog ;  which,  to-morrow,  hy 
his  master's  command,  he  must  carry  for  a  present  to 
his  lady. 

Jul.  Peace !  stand  aside :  the  company  parts. 

Pro.  Sir  Thurio,  fear  you  not :  I  will  so  plead, 
That  you  shall  say  my  cunning  drift  excels. 

Thu.  Where  meet  we? 

Pro.  At  St.  Gregory's  well. 

Thu.  Farewell.          [Exeunt  THURIO  and  Musicians. 
Enter  SILVIA  above,  at  her  window. 

Pro.  Madam,  good  even  to  your  ladyship. 

Sil.  I  thank  you  for  your  music,  gentlemen. 
Who  is  that,  that  spake? 

Pro.  One,  lady,  if  you  knew  his  pure  heart's  truth, 
You  would  quickly  learn  to  know  him  by  his  voice. 

Sil.  Sir  Proteus,  as  I  take  it. 

Pro.  Sir  Proteus,  gentle  lady,  and  your  servant. 

Sil.  What  is  your  will  ? 

Pro.  That  I  may  compass  yours 

Sil.  You  have  your  wish  :  my  will  is  even  this, 
That  presently  you  hie  you  home  to  hed. 
Thou  subtle,  perjur'd,  false,  disloyal  man  ! 
Think'st  thou.  I  am  so  shallow,  so  conceitless, 
To  be  seduced  by  thy  flattery, 
That  hast  deceiv'd  so  many  with  thy  vows  ? 
Return,  return,  and  make  thy  love  amends. 
For  me,  by  this  pale  queen  of  night  I  swear, 
I  am  so  far  from  gi  anting  thy  request, 
Tt  at  I  despise  thee  for  thy  wrongful  suit, 
i  This  direction  is  not  in  f.  e 


114  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.    ACT  IV 

And  by  and  by  intend  to  chide  myself, 
Even  for  this  time  I  spend  in  talking  to  thee. 

Pro.  I  grant,  sweet  love,  that  I  did  love  a  lady; 
But  she  is  dead. 

Jul.  [Aside.]  ;T  were  false,  if  I  should  speak  it; 
For,  I  am  sure,  she  is  not  buried. 

Sil.  Say,  that  she  be ;  yet  Valentine,  thy  frien*, 
Survives,  to  whom  thyself  art  witness 
I  am  betroth'd ;  and  art  thou  not  asham'd 
To  wrong  him  with  thy  importunacy? 

Pro.  I  likewise  hear,  that  Valentine  is  dead. 

Sil.  And  so,  suppose,  am  I ;  for  in  his  grave, 
Assure  thyself,  my  love  is  buried. 

Pro.  Sweet  lady,  let  me  rake  it  from  the  earth. 

Sil.  Go  to  thy  lady's  grave,  and  call  her's  thence ; 
Or,  at  the  least,  in  her's  sepulchre  thine. 

Jul.  [Aside.]  He  heard  not  that. 

Pro.  Madam,  if  your  heart  be  so  obdurate, 
Vouchsafe  me  yet  your  picture  for  my  love, 
The  picture  that  is  hanging  in  your  chamber : 
To  that  I'll  speak,  to  that  I'll  sigh  and  weep; 
For,  since  the  substance  of  your  perfect  self 
Is  else  devoted,  I  am  but  a  shadow, 
And  to  your  shadow  will  I  make  true  love. 

Jul.  [Aside.]  If 't  were  a  substance,  you  would,  sure 

deceive  it. 
And  make  it  but  a  shadow,  as  I  am. 

Sil.  I  am  very  loth  to  be  your  idol,  sir ; 
But,  since  your  falsehood,  't  shall  become  you  well 
To  worship  shadows,  and  adore  false  shapes, 
Send  to  me  in  the  morning,  and  I  '11  send  it. 
And  so,  good  rest. 

Pro.  As  wretches  have  o'er  night, 

That  wait  for  execution  in  the  morn. 

[Exeunt  PROTEUS  and  SILVIA. 

Jul.  Host,  will  you  go  ? 

Host.  By  my  halidom,1  I  was  fast  asleep. 

Jul.  Pray  you,  where  lies  sir  Proteus  ? 

Host.  Marry,  at  my  house.     Trust  me,  I  think,  't  Is 
almost  day. 

Jul.  Not  so ;  but  it  hath  been  the  longest  night 
That  e'er  I  watch'd,  and  the  most  heaviest.     [Exeunt. 

»  From  the  Saxon  haligdome,  holy  place  or  kingdom. 


EC.  III.     THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  115 

SCENE  III.— The  Same. 
Enter  EGLAMOUR. 

Egl.  This  is  the  hour  that  madam  Silvia 
Entreated  me  to  call,  and  know  her  mind. 
There  ;s  some  great  matter  she  'd  employ  me  in. — 
Madam,  madam  ! 

Enter  SILVIA  above,  at  her  window, 

Sil.  Who  calls  ? 

Egl.  Your  servant,  and  your  friend ; 

One  that  attends  your  ladyship's  command. 

Sil.  Sir  Egl  amour,  a  thousand  times  good  morrow. 

Egl.  As  many,  worthy  lady,  to  yourself. 
According  to  your  ladyship's  impose,1 
1  am  thus  early  come,  to  know  what  service 
It  is  your  pleasure  to  command  me  in. 

Sil.  0  Eglamour,  thou  art  a  gentleman, 
Think  not  I  flatter,  for  I  swear  I  do  not, 
Valiant,  wise,  remorseful,2  well  accomplish'd. 
Thou  art  not  ignorant  what  dear  good  will 
1  bear  unto  the  banish'd  Valentine; 
Nor  how  my  father  would  enforce  me  marry 
Vain  Thurio,  whom  my  very  soul  abhors. 
Thyself  hast  lov'd ;  and  I  have  heard  thee  say, 
No  grief  did  ever  come  so  near  thy  heart, 
As  when  thy  lady  and  thy  true  love  died, 
Upon  whose  grave  thou  vow'dst  pure  chastity. 
Sir  Eglamour,  I  would  to  Valentine, 
To  Mantua,  where,  I  hear,  he  makes  abode ; 
And,  for  the  ways  are  dangerous  to  pass, 
I  do  desire  thy  worthy  company, 
Upon  whose  faith  and  honour  I  repose. 
Urge  not  my  father's  anger,  Eglamour, 
But  think  upon  my  grief,  a  lady's  grief, 
And  on  the  justice  of  my  flying  hence, 
To  teep  me  from  a  most  unholy  match, 
Which  heaven  and  fortune  still  reward  with  plagues 
I  do  desire  thee,  even  from  a  heart 
As  full  of  sorrows  as  the  sea  of  sands, 
To  bear  me  company,  and  go  with  me : 
If  not,  to  hide  what  I  have  said  to  thee, 
That  I  may  venture  to  depart  alone, 

Egl.  Madam,  I  pity  much  your  grievances, 

1  Injunction     3  Compassionate. 


116     THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  ACT  IV. 

And  the  most  true  affections  that  you  bear;1 
Which  since  I  know  they  virtuously  are  plac'd, 
I  give  consent  to  go  along  with  you ; 
Recking  as  little  what  betideth  me, 
As  much  I  wish  all  good  befortune  you. 
When  will  you  go  ? 

Sil.  This  evening  coming. 

Egl.  Where  shall  I  meet  you? 

Sa.  At  friar  Patrick's  cell, 

Where  I  intend  holy  confession. 

Egl.  I  will  not  fail  your  ladyship.     Good  morrow, 
Gentle  lady. 

Sil.         Good  morrow,  kind  sir  Eglamour.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— The  Same. 
Enter  LAUNCE  with  his  dog. 

Launce.  When  a  man's  servant  shall  play  the  cur 
with  him,  look  you,  it  goes  hard  :  one  that  I  brought 
up  of  a  puppy ;  one  that  I  saved  from  drowning,  when 
three  or  four  of  his  blind  brothers  and  sisters  went  to 
it.  I  have  taught  him,  even  as  one  would  say  precisely, 
thus  I  would  teach  a  dog.  I  was  sent  to  deliver  him 
as  a  present  to  mistress  Silvia  from  my  master,  and  I 
came  no  sooner  into  the  dining-chamber.  but  he  steps 
me  to  her  trencher,  and  steals  her  capon's  leg.  O  !  'tis 
a  foul  thing,  when  a  cur  cannot  keep  himself  in  all 
companies.  I  would  have,  as  one  should  say,  one  that 
takes  upon  him  to  be  a  dog  indeed,  to  be,  as  it  were,  a 
dog  at  all  things.  If  I  had  not  had  more  wit  than  he, 
to  take  a  fault  upon  me  that  he  did,  I  think  verily,  he 
had  been  hang'd  for  't :  sure  as  I  live,  he  had  suffer'd 
for  !t.  You  shall  judge.  He  thrusts  me  himself  into  the 
company  of  three  or  four  gentlemen-like  dogs  under 
the  duke's  table  :  he  had  not  been  there  (bless  the 
mark)  a  pissing  while,  but  all  the  chamber  smelt  him. 
"Out  with  the  dog  !"  says  one;  "what  cur  is  that?" 
says  another ;  "  whip  him  out,"  says  the  third ;  "  hang 
him  up,"  says  the  duke.  I,  having  been  acquainted 
with  the  smell  before,  knew  it  was  Crab,  and  goes  me 
to  the  fellow  that  whips  the  dogs  :  "  Friend,"  quoth  I , 
"  do  you  mean  to  whip  the  dog?"  "  Ay,  marry,  do  I," 
quoth  he.  "You  do  him  the  more  wrong,"  quoth  I, 
"  !t  was  I  did  the  thing  you  wot  of."  He  makes  me  no 
This  line  is  not  in  f.  e. 


SC.  IV.   THE  TWO  GKNTLEMEN  OK  YEUOXA.      117 

more  ado,  but  whips  me  out  of  the  chamber.  How 
many  masters  would  do  this  for  his-servant  ?  Nay,  I  '11 
be  sworn  I  have  sat  in  the  stocks  for  puddings  he  hath 
stolen,  otherwise  he  had  been  executed :  I  have  stood 
on  the  pillory  for  geese  he  hath  kill'd,  otherwise  he  had 
suffer'd  for  't :  thou  think'st  not  of  this  now. — Nay,  I 
remember  the  trick  you  served  me,  when  I  took  my 
leave  of  madam  Silvia.  Did  not  I  bid  thee  still  mark 
me,  and  do  as  1  do  ?  When  didst  thou  see  me  heave 
up  my  leg,  and  make  water  against  a  gentlewoman's 
farthingale?  Didst  thou  ever  see  me  do  such  a  trick? 
Enter  PROTEUS  and  JULIA. 

Pro.  Sebastian  is  thy  name?     I  like  thee  well, 
And  will  employ  thee  in  some  service  presently. 

Jul.  In  what  you  please :  I  will  do  what  I  can. 

Pro.  I  hope  thou  wilt. — How.  now,  you  whoreson 

peasant ! 
Where  have  you  been  these  two  days  loitering  ? 

Launce.  Marry,  sir,  I  carried  mistress  Silvia  the  dog 
you  bade  me. 

Pro.  And  what  says  she  to  my  little  jewel  ? 

Launce.  Marry,  she  says,  your  dog  was  a  cur  ;  and 
jells  you,  currish  thanks  is  good  enough  for  such  a 
present. 

Pro.  But  she  receiv'd  my  dog  ? 

Launce.  No,  indeed,  did  she  not.  Here  have  I 
brought  him  back  again. 

Pro.  What !  didst  thou  offer  her  this  cur1  from  me  ? 

Launce.  Ay,  sir  :  the  other  squirrel  was  stolen  from 
me  by  a  hangman  boy2  in  the  market-place  •  and  then 
I  offer'd  her  my  own,  who  is  a  dog  as  big  as  ten  of 
yours,  and  therefore  the  gift  the  greater. 

Pro.  Go  ;  get  thee  hence,  and  find  my  dog  again, 
Or  ne'er  return  again  into  my  sight. 
Away,  I'say !     Stayest  thou  to  vex  me  here? 
A  slave  that  still  an  end3  turns  me  to  shame. 

[Exit  LAUNCE. 

Sebastian,  I  have  entertained  thee, 
Partly,  that  I  have  need  of  such  a  youth, 
That  can  with  some  discretion  do  my  business, 
For  't  is  no  trusting  to  yond  foolish  lowt ; 
But.  chiefly,  for  thy  face,  and  thy  behaviour, 
Which  (if  my  augury  deceive  me  not) 

1  Not  in  f.  e.     -  the  hangman's  boys  :  in  f.  e.    3  Continually. 
VOL.  i.  22 


118  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.     ACT  IV. 

Witness  good  bringing  up,  fortune,  and  truth : 
Therefore,  know  thou,  for  this  I  entertain  thee. 
Go  presently,  and  take  this  ring  with  thee : 
Deliver  it  to  madam  Silvia. 
She  lov;d  me  well  deliver' d  it  to  me. 

Jid.  It  seems,  you  lov'd  not  her,  to  leave  her  token. 
She  ;s  dead,  belike? 

Pro.  Not  so :  I  think,  she  lives. 

M.  Alas! 

Pro.  Why  dost  thou  cry  alas? 

Jul.  I  cannot  choose  but  pity  her. 

Pro.  Wherefore  shouldst  thou  pity  her  ? 

Jul.  Because,  methinks,  that  she  lov'd  you  as  well 
As  you  do  love  your  lady  Silvia. 
She  dreams  on  him,  that  has  forgot  her  love; 
You  dote  on  her,  that  cares  not  for  your  love. 
'T  is  pity,  love  should  be  so  contrary, 
And  thinking  on  it  makes  me  cry  alas  ! 

Pro.  Well,  give  to  her  that  ring ;  and  therewithal 
This  letter  : — that 's  her  chamber.— Tell  my  lady 
1  claim  the  promise  for  her  heavenly  picture. 
Your  message  done,  hie  home  unto  my  chamber, 
Where  thou  shalt  find  me  sad  and  solitary.  [Exit 

Jul.  How  many  women  would  do  such  a  message  ? 
Alas,  poor  Proteus  !  thou  hast  entertain'd 
A  fox  to  be  the  shepherd  of  thy  lambs. 
Alas,  poor  fool !  why  do  I  pity  him, 
That  with  his  very  heart  despiseth  me  ? 
Because  he  loves  her,  he  despiseth  me ; 
Because  I  love  him,  I  must  pity  him. 
This  ring  I  gave  him  when  lie  parted  from  me, 
To  bind  him  to  remember  my  good  will, 
And  now  am  I  (unhappy  messenger  !) 
To  plead  for  that  which  I  would  not  obtain; 
To  carry  that  which  I  would  have  refus'd ; 
To  praise  his  faith  which  I  would  have  disprais'd. 
I  am  my  master's  true  confirmed  love, 
But  cannot  be  true  servant  to  my  master, 
Unless  I  prove  false  traitor  to  myself. 
Yet  will  I  woo  for  him;  but  yet  so  coldly. 
As,  heaven  it  knows,  I  would  not  have  him  speed. 

Enter  SILVIA,  attended. 

Gentlewoman,  good  day.     I  pray  you,  be  my  mean 
To  bring  me  where  to  speak  with  madam  Silvia. 


SO.  IV.      THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  119 

Sil.  What  would  you  with  hor,  if  that  I  be  she? 

Jnl.  If  you  be  she,  I  do  entreat  your  patience 
To  hear  me  speak  the  message  I  am  sent  on. 

Sil.  From  whom  ? 

Jul.  From  my  master,  sir  Proteus,  madam. 

Sil.  O  !  he  sends  you  for  a  picture. 

Jul.  Ay,  madam. 

Sil.  Ursula,  bring  my  picture  there.  [A  Picture  brought. 
Go,  give  your  master  this  :  tell  him  from  me, 
One  Julia,  that  his  changing  thoughts  forget, 
Would  better  fit  his  chamber,  than  this  shadow. 

Jul.  Madam,  so1  please  you  toa  peruse  this  letter.— 
Pardon  me,  madam,  I  have  unadvis'd  [Giving  a  letter. 
Deliver'd  you  a  paper  that  I  should  not : 
This  is  the  letter  to  your  ladyship.  [  Giving  another  letter. 

Sil.  I  pray  thee,  let  me  look  on  that  again. 

Jul.  It  may  not  be  :  good  madam,  pardon  me. 

Sil.  There,  hold.  [Giving  it  back. 

1  will  not  look  upon  your  master's  lines  : 
I  know,  they  are  stuff'd  with  protestations, 
And  full  of  new-found  oaths,  which  he  will  break, 
As  easily  as  I  do  tear  his  paper. 

Jul.  Madam,  he  sends  your  ladyship  this  ring. 

Sil.  The  more  shame  for  him  that  he  sends  it  me: 
For,  I  have  heard  him  say.  a  thousand  times, 
His  Julia  gave  it  him  at  his  departure. 
Though  his  false  finger  have  profan'd  the  ring, 
Mine  shall  not  do  his  Julia  so  much  wrong. 

Jul.  She  thanks  you. 

Sil.  What  say'st  thou  ? 

Jul.  I  thank  you,  madam,  that  you  tender  her. 
Poor  gentlewoman  !  my  master  wrongs  her  much. 

Sil.  Dost  thou  know  her  ? 

Jul.     Almost  as  well  as  I  do  know  myself : 
To  think  upon  her  woes,  I  do  protest, 
That  I  have  wept  a  hundred  several  times. 

Sil.  Belike,  she  thinks,  that  Proteus  hath  forsook  hef 

Jul.  I  think  she  doth,  and  that  ;s  her  cause  of  sorrow 

Sil.  Is  she  not  passing  fair  ? 

Jul.  She  hath  been  fairer,  madam,  than  she  is. 
When  she  did  think  my  master  lov'd  her  well, 
She,  in  my  judgment,  was  as  fair  as  you  ; 
But  since  she  did  neglect  her  looking-glass, 


120  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.    ACT  IV, 

And  threw  her  sun-expelling  mask  away, 
The  air  hath  starv'd  the  roses  in  her  cheek 
And  piuch'd  the  lily-tincture  of  her  face, 
That  now  she  is  become  as  black  as  I. 

Sil.  How  tall  was  she  ? 

Jul.  About  my  stature ;  for,  at  pentecost, 
When  all  our  pageants  of  delight  were  play'd, 
Our  youth  got  me  to  play  the  woman's  part, 
And  I  was  trimm'd  in  madam  Julia's  gown, 
Which  served  me  as  fit,  by  all  men's  judgments, 
As  if  the  garment  had  been  made  for  me : 
Therefore,  I  know  she  is  about  my  height. 
And  at  that  time  I  made  her  weep  a-good,1 
For  I  did  play  a  lamentable  part. 
Madam,  'twas  Ariadne,  passioning 
For  Theseus'  perjury,  and  unjust  flight ; 
Which  I  so  lively  acted  with  my  tears,' 
That  my  poor  mistress,  moved  therewithal, 
Wept  bitterly ;  and,  would  I  might  be  dead, 
If  I  in  thought  felt  not  her  very  sorrow. 

Sil.  She  is  beholding  to  thee,  gentle  youth. — 
Alas,  poor  lady !  desolate  and  left ! — 
[  weep  myself,  to  think  upon  thy  words. 
Here,  youth ;  there  is  my  purse :  I  give  thee  this 
For  thy  sweet  mistress'  sake,  because  thou  lov'st  her. 
Farewell.  [Exit  SILVIA 

Jul.  And  she  shall  thank  you  for  't,  if  e'er  you  kno^f 

her.— 

A  virtuous  gentlewoman,  mild,  and  beautiful ! 
I  hope  my  master's  suit  will  be  but  cold, 
Since  she  respects  my  mistress'  love  so  much. 
Alas,  how  love  can  trifle  with  itself ! 
Here  is  her  picture.     Let  me  see  :  I  think, 
If  I  had  such  a  tire,  this  face  of  mine 
Were  full  as  lovely  as  is  this  of  hers ; 
And  yet  the  painter  flatter'd  her  a  little, 
Unless  I  flatter  with  myself  too  much. 
Her  hair  is  auburn,  mine  is  perfect  yellow : 
If  that  be  all  the  difference  in  his  love, 
I  '11  get  me  such  a  colour'd  periwig. 
Her  eyes  are  green  as  grass,8  and  so  are  mine : 
Ay,  but  her  forehead 's  low,  and  mine 's  as  high. 
What  should  it  be,  that  he  respects  in  her, 

In  good  earnest.    '  grey  as  glass  :  in  f.  e. 


SC.  II.   THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.     121 

But  I  can  make  respective  in  myself, 

If  this  fond  love  were  not  a  blinded  god? 

Come,  shadow  come,  and  take  this  shadow  up, 

For  't  is  thy  rival.     0  thou  senseless  form  ! 

Thou  shalt  be  worshiped,  kiss'd,  lov'd,  and  adord; 

And.  were  there  sense  in  his  idolatry, 

My  substance  should  be  statue  in  thy  stead. 

I  ;11  use  thee  kindly  for  thy  mistress'  sake, 

That  us'd  me  so  :  or  else,  by  Jove  I  vow, 

I  sho  :ld  have  scratch'd  out  your  unseeing  eyes, 

To  make  my  master  out  of  love  with  thee.  [Exit, 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.— The  Same.     An  Abbey. 
Enter  EGLAMOUR. 

Egl.  The  sun  begins  to  gild  the  western  sky, 
And  now  it  is  about  the  very  hour. 
That  Silvia  at  friar  Patrick's  cell  should  meet  me. 
She  will  not  fail ;  for  lovers  break  not  hours, 
Unless  it  be  to  come  before  their  time, 
So  much  they  spur  their  expedition. 

Enter  SILVIA. 
See,  where  she  comes. — Lady,  a  happy  evening. 

Sil.  Amen,  amen.     Go  on,  good  Eglamour, 
Out  at  the  postern  by  the  abbey-wall. 
T  fear.  I  am  attended  by  some  spies. 

Egl.  Fear  not :  the  forest  is  not  three  leagues  off ; 
If  we  recover  that,  we  are  sure  enough.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  II. — The  Same.    A  Room  in  the  DUKE'S 

Palace. 
Enter  THURIO,  PROTEUS,  and  JULIA. 

Thu.  Sir  Proteus,  what  says  Silvia  to  my  suit  ? 
Pro.  0.  sir  !  I  find  her  milder  than  she  was; 
A  nd  yet  she  takes  exceptions  at  your  person. 
Thu.  What !  that  my  leg  is  too  long  ? 
Pro.  No,  that  it  is  too  little. 

Thu.  I  '11  wear  a  boot  to  make  it  somewhat  roundel 
Jul.  But  love  will  not  be  spurr'd  to  what  it  loaths. 

[Aside 


122  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF   VERONA.      ACT  Vt 

Thu.  What  says  she  to  my  face? 

Pro.  She  says  it  is  a  fair  one. 

Thu.  Nay,  then  the  wanton  lies  :  my  face  is  black, 

Pro.  But  pearls  are  fair,  and  the  old  saying  is, 
Black  men  are  pearls  in  beauteous  ladies'  eyes 

Jul.  ;T  is  true,  such  pearls  as  put  out  ladies  eyes ; 
For  I  had  rather  wink  thaji  look  on  them.          [Aside. 

Thu.  How  likes  she  my  discourse  ? 

Pro.  Ill,  when  you  talk  of  war. 

Thu.  But  well,    when    I    discourse   of    love    and 
peace  ? 

Jul.  But  better,  indeed,  when  you  hold  your  peace. 

[Aside. 

Thu.  What  says  she  to  my  valour  ? 

Pro.  0,  sir  !  she  makes  no  doubt  of  that. 

Jul.  She  needs  not,  when  she  knows  it  cowardice. 

[Aside. 

Thu.  What  says  she  to  my  birth  ? 

Pro.  That  you  are  well  deriv'd. 

Jul.  True  ;  from  a  gentleman  to  a  fool.  [Aside. 

Thu.  Considers  she  my  large  possessions  ? 

Pro.  0  !  ay,  and  pities  them. 

Thu.  Wherefore? 

Jul.  That  such  an  ass  should  owe  them.         \Asule. 

Pro.  That  they  are  out  by  lease. 

Jul.  Here  comes  the  duke. 

Enter  DUKE,  angrily.1 

Duke.  How  now,  sir  Proteus  !  how  now,  Thxirio ! 
Which  of  you  saw  sir2  Eglamour  of  late  ? 

Thu.  Not  I. 

Pro.  Nor  I 

Duke.  Saw  you  my  daughter  ? 

Pro.  Neither. 

Duke.  Why,  then 

She  's  fled  unto  that  peasant  Valentine, 
And  Eglamour  is  in  her  company. 
'T  is  true  :  for  friar  Lawrence  met  them  both, 
As  he  in  penance  wander'd  through  the  forest : 
Him  he  knew  well  ,  and  guess'd  that  it  was  she, 
But,  being  mask'd,  he  was  not  sure  of  her : 
Besides,  she  did  intend  confession 
At  Patrick's  cell  this  even,  and  there  she  was  not. 
These  likelihoods  confirm  her  flight  from  hence: 
»  *  Not  in  f.  e. 


SC.  IV.   THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.     123 

Therefore,  I  pray  you,  stand  not  to  discourse, 
But  mount  you  presently ;  and  meet  with  me 
Upon  the  rising  of  the  mountain-foot, 
That  leads  towards  Mantua,  whither  they  are  fled. 
Dispatch,  sweet  gentlemen,  and  follow  me. 

[Exit  in  haste. 

Thu.  Why,  this  it  is  to  be  a  peevish  girl, 
That  flies  her  fortune  when  it  follows  her. 
I  '11  after,  more  to  be  reveng'd  on  Eglamour, 
Than  for  the  love  of  reckless  Silvia.  [Exit 

Pro.  And  I  will  follow,  more  for  Silvia's  love, 
Than  hate  of  Eglamour  that  goes  with  her.         [Exit 

Jul.  And  I  will  follow,  more  to  cross  that  love. 
Than  hate  for  Silvia  that  is  gone  for  love.  [Exit 

SCENE  III.— The  Forest. 
Enter  SILVIA,  and  Outlaws. 

1  Out.  Come,  come;  be  patient,  we  must  bring  you 
to  our  captain.  [Drawing  her  in. 

Sil.  A  thousand  more  mischances  than  this  one 
Have  learn' d  me  how  to  brook  this  patiently. 

2  Out.  Come,  bring  her  away. 

1  Out.  Where  is  the  gentleman  that  was  with  her? 

3  Out.  Being  nimble-footed,  he  hath  outrun  us; 
But  Moyses.  and  Valerius,  follow  him. 

Go  thou  with  her  to  the  west  end  of  the  wood ; 
There  is  our  captain.     We  '11  follow  him  that 's  fled  : 
The  thicket  is  beset ;  he  cannot  'scape. 

1  Out.  Come,  I  must  bring  you  to  our  captain's  cave. 
Fear  not ;  he  bears  an  honourable  mind, 
And  will  not  use  a  woman  lawlessly. 

Sil.  0  Valentine  !  this  I  endure  for  thee.     [Exeunt 

SCENE  IV. — Another  Part  of  the  Forest. 

Enter  VALENTINE. 

Val.  How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man  ! 
These  shadowy,  desert,    unfrequented  woods, 
I  better  brook  than  flourishing  peopled  towns. 
Here  can  I  sit  alone,  unseen  of  any, 
And  to  the  nightingale's  complaining  notes 
Tune  my  distresses,  and  record3  my  woes. 
O  !  thou  that  dost  inhabit  in  my  breast, 
Leave  not  the  mansion  too  long  tenantless, 
'  in  haste  :  not  in  f.  e.      3  This  shadowy  desert :  in  f.  a     •  sing 


124  THE   TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF   VERONA.      ACT  V 

Lest,  growing  ruinous,  the  building  fall, 
And  leave  no  memory  of  what  it  was  ! 
Repair  me  with  thy  presence,  Silvia  ! 
Thou  gentle  nymph,  cherish  thy  forlorn  swain  ! — 
What  halloing,  and  what  stir,  is  this  to-day?  [Shouts. 
These  my  rude  mates,"  that  make  their  wills  their  law 
Have  some  unhappy  passenger  in  chase. 
They  love  me  well ;  yet  I  have  much  to  do, 
To  keep  them  from  uncivil  outrages. 
Withdraw  thee,  Valentine  :  who  's  this  comes  here  ? 

[Withdrew. 
Enter  PROTEUS,  SILVIA,  and  JULIA. 

Pro,  Madam,  this  service  having*  done  for  you. 
(Though  you  respect  not  aught  your  servant  doth) 
To  hazard  life,  and  rescue  you  from  him, 
That  would  have  forc'd  your  honour  and  your  love,8 
Vouchsafe  me,  for  my  meed,  but  one  fair  look." 
A  smaller  boon  than  this  I  cannot  beg, 
And  less  than  this.  I  am  sure,  you  cannot  give 

Vol.  How  like  a  dream  is  this,  I  see  and  hear  ! 
Love,  lend  me  patience  to  forbear  awhile.  [Aside. 

Sil.  0,  miserable  !  unhappy  that  I  am  ! 

Pro.  Unhappy  were  you,  madam,  ere  I  came  ; 
But  by  my  coming  I  have  made  you  happy. 

Sil.  By  thy  approach  thou  mak  st  me  most  unhappy. 

Jul.  And  me,  when  he  approacheth  to  your  presence. 

[Aside. 

Sil.  Had  I  been  seized  by  a  hungry  lion, 
I  would  have  been  a  breakfast  to  the  beast, 
Rather  than  have  false  Proteus  rescue  me. 
0.  heaven  !  be  judge,  how  I  love  Valentine, 
Whose  life's  as  tender  to  me  as  my  soul ; 
And  full  as  much  (for  more  there  cannot  be) 
I  do  detest  false,  perjur'd  Proteus  : 
Therefore  be  gone :  solicit  me  no  more. 

Pro.  What  dangerous  action,  stood  it  next  to  death. 
Would  I  not  undergo  for  one  calm  look. 

0  !  ;t  is  the  curse  in  love,  and  still  approv'd,7 
When  women  cannot  love  where  they  're  belov'd, 

Sil.  When  Proteus  cannot  love  where  he  's  belov'd. 
Read  over  Julia's  heart,  thy  first  best  love, 

»  Not  in  f.  e.    »  are  my  mates  :  in  f.  e.     s  steps   iside :  in  t.  e 
*  1  have  :  in  f.  e      •  f .  e.  have  a  period.     •  f.  e.  have   a  semi-colon 

1  prortd 


8C.  IV.       THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    VERONA.  125 

For  whose  dear  sake  thou  didst  then  rend  thy  faith 
Into  a  thousand  oaths  ;  and  all  those  oaths 
Descended  into  perjury  to  love  me. 
Thou  hast  no  faith  left  now,  unless  thou'dst  two, 
And  that 's  far  worse  than  none :  better  have  none 
Than  plural  faith,  which  is  too  much  by  one. 
Thou  counterfeit  to  thy  true  friend  !  » 

Pro.  In  love 

Who  respects  friend? 

Sit .  All  men  but  Proteus. 

Pro.  Nay,  if  the  gentle  spirit  of  moving  words 
Can  no  way  change  you  to  a  milder  form, 
I  '11  woo  you  like  a  soldier,  at  arm's  end, 
And  love  you  'gainst  the  nature  of  love :  force  you. 

Sil.  0  heaven ! 

Pro.  I  '11  force  thee  yield  to  my  desire. 

Vol.    [Coming  forward.}  Ruffian,  let   go  that  rale 

uncivil  touch ; 
Thou  friend  of  an  ill  fashion  ! 

Pro.  Valentine  !  [love ; 

Vol.  Thou  common  friend,  that's  without  faith  or 
(For  such  is  a  friend  now)  treacherous  man  ! 
Thou  hast  beguil'd  my  hopes  :  nought  but  mine  eye 
Could  have  persuaded  me.     Now  dared  I  to  say, 
I  have  one  friend  alive,  thou  would'st  disprove  me. 
Who  should  be  trusted  now,  when  one's  right  iiand 
Is  perjur'd  to  the  bosom  ?     Proteus, 
I  am  sorry  I  must  never  trust  thee  more, 
But  count  the  world  a  stranger  for  thy  sake. 
The  private  wound  is  deep'st.     0  time  accurst ! 
;Mongst  all  my1  foes3  a  friend  should  be  the  worst ! 

Pro.  My  shame  and  desperate  guilt  at  once3  con 

found  me. — 

Forgive  me,  Valentine.     If  hearty  sorrow 
Be  a  sufficient  ransom  for  offence, 
I  tender  't  here  :  I  do  as  truly  suffer, 
As  e'er  I  did  commit. 

Vol.  Then.  I  am  paid ; 

And  once  again  I  do  receive  thee  honest. 
Who  by  repentance  is  not  satisfied. 
Is  nor  of  heaven,  nor  earth ;  for  these  are  pleas'd : 
By  penitence  th'  Eternal's  wrath  's  appeas'd. 

i  Not  in  f.  e.     *  that :  in  f.  e.    3  My  shame   and  guilt  confound  . 
in  f.  e. 


126  THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF   VERONA.      ACT  V. 

And,  that  my  love  may  appear  plain  and  free, 
All  that  was  mine  in  Silvia  I  give  thee. 

Jul.  0  me  unhappy  ! 

Pro.  Look  to  the  boy. 

Vol.  Why,  boy !  why,  wag !  how  now !  what 's  the 
matter  !  look  up ;  speak. 

Jtf.  0  good  sir  !  my  master  charg'd  me  to  deliver  a 
ring  to  madam  Silvia,  which,  out  of  my  neglect,  wa* 
never  done. 

Pro.  Where  is  that  ring,  boy  ? 

Jul.  Here  't  is :  this  is  it.  [Gives  a  ring. 

Pro.  How  !  let  me  see. 
This  is  the  ring  I  gave  to  Julia. 

Jul.  O  !  cry  you  mercy,  sir ;  I  have  mistook : 
This  is  the  ring  you  sent  to  Silvia.  [Shows  another  ring. 

Pro.  But,  how  cam'st  thou  by  this  ring? 
At  my  depart  I  gave  this  unto  Julia. 

Jul.  And  Julia  herself  did  give  it  me ; 
And  Julia  herself  hath  brought  it  hither. 

Pro.  How  ?     Julia  !  [Discovering  herself. 

Jul.  Behold  her  that  gave  aim  to  all  thy  oaths, 
And  entertain'd  them  deeply  in  her  heart : 
How  oft  hast  thou  with  perjury  cleft  the  root ! 
O  Proteus  !  let  this  habit  make  thee  blush : 
Be  thou  asham'd,  that  I  have  took  upon  me 
Such  an  immodest  raiment ;  if  shame  live 
In  a  disguise  of  love. 
It  is  the  lesser  blot,  modesty  finds, 
Women  to  change  their  shapes,  than  men  their  minds. 

Pro.  .Than  men  their  minds :  't  is  true.     0  heaven ! 

were  man 

But  constant,  he  were  perfect :  that  one  error 
Fills  him  with  faults ;  makes  him  run  through  all  the 

sins: 

Inconstancy  falls  off,  ere  it  begins. 
What  is  in  Silvia's  face,  but  I  may  spy 
More  fresh  in  Julia's,  with  a  constant  eye? 

Vol.  Come,  come,  a  hand  from  either. 
Let  me  be  blest  to  make  this  happy  close . 
'T  were  pity  two  such  friends  should  be  long  foes. 

Pro.  Bear  witness,  heaven,  I  have  my  wish  for  ever 

Jul.  And  I  mine. 

Enter  Outlaws,  with  DUKE  and  THURTO 

Out .  A  prize  !  a  prize  !  a  prize  ! 


BC.  IV.   THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.     12*7 

Vol.  Forbear     forbear,  I  say :   it  is  my  lord  the 

duke. — 

Your  grace  is  welcome  to  a  man  disgrac'd, 
Banished  Valentine. 

Duke.  Sir  Valentine  ! 

Thu.  Yonder  is  Silvia;  and  Silvia's  mine. 

Val.  Thurio,  give  back,  or  else  embrace  thy  death. 
Come  not  within  the  measure  of  my  wrath : 
Do  not  name  Silvia  thine ;  if  once  again, 
Milano1  shall  not  hold  thee.     Here  she  stands : 
Take  but  possession  of  her  with  a  touch. 
I  dare  thee  but  to  breathe  upon  my  love. 

Thu.  Sir  Valentine,  I  care  not  for  her,  I. 
I  hold  him  but  a  fool,  that  will  endanger 
His  body  for  a  girl  that  loves  him  not : 
I  claim  her  not,  and  therefore  she  is  thine. 

Duke.  The  more  degenerate  and  base  art  thou, 
To  make  such  means  for  her  as  thou  hast  done, 
And  leave  her  on  such  slight  conditions. 
Now,  by  the  honour  of  my  ancestry, 
I  do  applaud  thy  spirit,  Valentine, 
And  think  thee  worthy  of  an  empress'  love. 
Know  then,  I  here  forget  all  former  griefs, 
Cancel  all  grudge,  repeal  thee  home  again, 
Plead  a  new  state  in  thy  unrivall'd  merit, 
To  which  I  thus  subscribe. — Sir  Valentine, 
Thou  art  a  gentleman,  and  well  deriv'd : 
Take  thou  thy  Silvia,  for  thou  hast  deserv'd  her. 

Val.  I  thank  your  grace ;   the  gift  hath  made  me 

happy. 

I  now  beseech  you,  for  your  daughter's  sake, 
To  grant  one  boon  that  I  shall  ask  of  you. 

Duke.  I  grant  it  for  thine  own.  whate'er  it  be. 

Val.  These  banish'd  men,  that  I  have  kept  withal, 
Are  men  endued  with  worthy  qualities  : 
Forgive  them  what  they  have  committed  here 
And  let  them  be  recalled  from  their  exile. 
They  are  reformed,  civil,  full  of  good, 
And  fit  for  great  employment,  worthy  lord. 

Duke.  Thou  hast  prevail'd ;  I  pardon  them,  and  thee , 
Dispose  of  them,  as  thou  know'st  their  deserts. 
Come;  let  us  go :  we  will  conclude8  all  jars 
With  triumphs,  mirth,  and  rare  solemnity, 
i  Verona  :  in  f.  e.     *  include  :  in  f.  e. 


128     THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  O*  VERONA.   ACT  V 

Vol.  And  as  we  walk  along,  I  dare  be  bold 
With  our  discourse  to  make  your  grace  to  smile. 
What  think  you  of  this  stripling1  page,  my  lord  ? 
Duke.  I  think  the  boy  hath  grace  in  him :  he  blushes 
Vol.  I  warrant  you,  my  lord,  more  grace  than  boy. 
Duke.  What  mean  you  by  that  saying,  Valentine  ?a 
Vol.  Please  you,  I  '11  tell  you  as  we  pass  along, 
That  you  will  wonder  what  hath  fortuned. — 
Come,  Proteus;  'tis  your  penance,  but  to  hear 
The  story  of  your  love's  discoverer  : 
Our  day  of  marriage  shall  be  yours  no  less;3 
One  feast,  one  house,  one  mutual  happiness. 

[Exeunt. 

i  a  Not  in  f.  e.    »  That  done,  our  day  of  marriage  shall  be  yours  : 


THE 

MERRY  WIVES  OF   WINDSOR. 


"  A  Most  pleasaunt  and  excellent  conceited  Comedie,  of  Syr 
lohn  Falstaflfe,  and  the  merrie  Wiues  of  Windsor.  Enter- 
mixed  with  sundrie  variable  and  pleasing  humors,  of  Syr 
Hugh  the  Welch  Knight,  I ustice  Shallow,  and  his  wise  Cousin 
M.  Slender.  With  the  swaggering  vaine  of  Auncient  Pistoll, 
and  Corporall  Nym.  By  William  Shakespeare.  As  it  hath 
bene  diuers  times  Acted  by  the  right  Honorable  my  Lord 
Chamberlaiiies  seruants.  Both  before  her  Maiestie,  and 
elsewhere.  London  Printed  by  T.  C.  for  Arthur  Johnson, 
and  are  to  be  sold  at  his  shop  in  Powles  Church-yard,  at  the 
Bigne  of  the  Flower  de  Leuse  and  the  Crowne.  1602."  4to. 
27  leaves. 

"  A  Most  pleasant  and  excellent  conceited  Comedy,  ot  Sir 
lohn  Falstaffe,  and  the  Merry  Wiues  of  Windsor.  With  the 
swaggering  vaine  of  Ancient  Pistoll,  and  Corporall  Nym. 
Written  by  W.  Shakespeare.  Printed  for  Arthur  Johnson, 
1619."  4tt>.  28  leaves. 

The  4to.  ot  1630,  was  "  printed  by  T.  H.  for  E.  Meighen." 
&c.  In  the  folio,  1623,  "The  Merry  Wiues  of  Windsor" 
occupies  twenty-two  pages,  viz.  from  p.  89  to  p.  60  inclusive, 
in  the  division  of  "  Comedies."  It  also  stands  third  in  the 
thro?  later  folios. 


INTRODUCTION. 


THIS  comedy  was  printed  for  the  first  time  in  a  perfect 
state  in  the  folio  of  1623:  it  had  come  out  in  an  imperfect 
state  in  1602,  and  again  in  1619,  in  both  instances  for  a  book- 
seller of  the  name  of  Arthur  Johnson:  Arthur  Johnson  ac- 
quired the  right  to  publish  it  from  John  Busby,  and  the 
original  entry,  and  the  assignment  of  the  play,  run  thus  in 
the  Ke<risters  of  the  Stationers'  Company. 

"  18  Jan.  1601.  John  Busby]  An  excellent  and  pleasant 
conceited  commedie  of  Sir  John  Faalstof,  and  the 
Merry  wyves  of  \Vindesor 

"  Arfh.  Johnson]  By  assignment  from  Jno.  Busbye 
a.  B.  An  excellent  and  pleasant  conceited  comedie 
of  Sir  John  Faulstafe,  and  the  mery  wyves  of  Wind- 
sor." 

January  1601,  according  to  our  present  mode  of  reckoning 
the  year,  was  January  1602,  and  the  "most  pleasaunt  and 
excellent  conceited  comedie  of  Syr  John  Falstatfe,  and  the 
merrie  Wives  of  Windsor,"  (the  title-page  following  the  de- 
scription in  the  entry)  appeared  in  quarto  with  the  date 
of  1602.  It  has  been  the  custom  to  look  upon  this  edition  as 
the  first  sketch  of  the  drama,  which  Shakespeare  afterwards 
enlarged  and  improved  to  the  form  in  which  it  appears  in  the 
folio  of  1623.  After  the  most  minute  examination,  we  are 
not  of  that  opinion :  it  has  been  universally  admitted  that  the 
4to.  of  1602  was  piratical :  and  our  conviction  is  that,  like  the 
first  edition  of  "  Henry  V."  in  1600,  it  was  made  up,  for  the 
purpose  of  sale,  partly  from  notes  taken  at  the  theatre,  and 
partly  t'roiii  memory,  without  even  the  assistance  of  any  of  the 
parts  as  delivered  out  by  the  copyist  of  the  theatre  to  tho 
actors.  It  is  to  be  observed,  that  John  Busby,  who  assigned 
"The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  "  to  Arthur  Johnson  in  I80S. 
was  the  same  bookseller  who,  two  years  before,  had  joined  in 
the  publication  of  the  undoubtedly  surreptitious  "  Henry  V." 
An  exact  reprint  of  the  4to.  of  1602  has  recently  been  made 
by  the  Shakespeare  Society,  under  the  cure  of  Mr.  J.  ().  llal- 
liwell;  and  any  person  possessing  it  may  easily  institute  a 
comparison  between  that  very  hasty  and  mangled  outline,  and 
the  complete  and  authorized  comedy  in  the  folio  of  1623, 
printed  from  the  play-house  manuscript  in  the  hands  of  He- 
minge  and  Condeu:  on  this  comparison  we  rely  for  evidence 
to  establish  the  position,  that  the  4to.  of  1602  was  not  only 
published  without  the  consent  of  the  author,  or  of  the  com- 


132  INTRODUCTION. 

pany  for  which  it  was  written,  but  that  it  was  fraudulently 
made  up  by  some  person  or  persons  who  attended  at  the 
theatre  tor  the  purpose.  It  will  be  found  that  there  is  no  va- 
riation in  the  progress  of  the  plot,  and  that  although  one  or 
two  transpositions  may  be  pointed  out,  of  most  of  the  speeches, 
necessary  to  the  conduct  and  development  of  the  story,  there 
is  some  germ  or  fragment:  all  are  made  to  look  like  prose  or 
verse,  apparently  at  the  mere  caprice  of  the  writer,  and  the 
edition  is  wretchedly  printed  in  a  largo  type,  as  if  the  object 
had  been  to  bring  it  out  with  speed,  m  order  to  take  advan- 
tage of  a  temporary  interest. 

^fhat  temporary  interest  perhaps  arose  more  immediately 
out  the  representation  of  the  comedy  before  Queen  Elizabeth, 
during  the  Christmas  holidays  preceding  the  date  of  the  entry 
in  the  Stationers'  Eegisters :  the  title-page  states,  that  it  had 
been  acted  "  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants"  before  the 
Queen  "  and  elsewhere :"  "  elsewhere,"  was  perhaps  at  the 
Globe  on  the  Bankside,  and  we  may  suppose,  that  it  bad  been 
brought  out  in  the  commencement  of  the  summer  season  of 
1600,  before  the  death  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy.  If  the  "  dozen 
white  luces"  in  the  first  scene  were  meant  to  ridicule  him, 
Shakespeare  would  certainly  not  have  introduced  the  allusion 
after  the  death  of  the  object  of  it,  That  it  continued  a  fa- 
vourite play  we  can  readily  believe,  and  we  learn  that  it  was 
acted  before  James  I.,  not  long  after  he  came  to  the  throne : 
the  following  memorandum  is  contained  in  the  accounts  of 
the  "  Revels  at  Court"  in  the  latter  end  of  1604. 

"  Bv  his  Maiestie's  plaiers.    The  Sundav  followinge  A 

Play  of  the  Merry  Wiues  of  Wiuson/' 

This  representation  occurred  on  "  the  Sunday  following " 
Nov.  1st.,  1604. 

What  has  led  some  to  imagine  that  the  surreptitious  im- 
pression of  1602  was  the  comedy  as  it  first  came  from  the 
hands  of  Shakespeare,  is  a  tradition  respecting  the  rapidity 
with  which  it  was  composed.  This  tradition,  when  traced 
to  its  source,  can  be  carried  back  no  farther  than  1702:  John. 
Dennis  in  that  year  printed  his  "Comical  Gallant,"  founded 
upon  the  "Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,"  and  in  the  dedication 
he  states,  that  "the  comedy  was  written  at  the  command  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  and  by  her  direction;  and  she  was  so  eager 
to  see  it  acted,  that  she  commanded  it  to  be  finished  in  four 
teen  days."  Dennis  gives  no  authority  for  any  part  of  this 
assertion,  but  because  he  knew  Dryden,  it  is  supposed  to  have 
come  from  him;  and  because  Dryden  was  acquainted  with 
Davenant,  it  has  been  conjectured' that  the  latter  might  have 
communicated  it  to  the  former.  We  own  that  we  place  little 
or  no  reliance  on  the  story,  especially  recollecting  that  Den- 
nis had  to  make  out  a  case  in  favour  of  his  alterations,  by 
showing  that  Shakespeare  had  composed  the  comedy  in  an 
incredibly  short  period,  and  consequently  that  it  was  capable 

i  See  Mr.  Peter  Cunningham's  "Extracts  from  the  Accounts  of 
the  Revels  at  Court,"  (printed  tor  the  Shaksp.  Society)  p.  203.  We 
had  no  previous  extrinsic  knowledge  of  any  early  performance  of 
'The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor." 


INTRODUCTION.  133 

of  improvement.  The  assertion  by  Dennis  was  repeated  by 
Gildon,  Tope,  Theobald,  &c.,  and  hence  it  has  obtained  a 
dcirree  of  currency  and  credit  to  which  it  seems  by  no  means 
entitled. 

It  has  been  a  disputed  question  in  what  part  of  the  series 
of  dramas  in  which  Falstaff  is  introduced,  "  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor"  ought  to  be  read:  Johnson  thought  it 
came  in  between  "  Henry  IV."  part  ii.  and  "  Henry  V. ;"  Ma- 
lone,  on  the  other  hand,  argued  that  it  should  be  placed  be- 
tween the  two  parta  of  "  Henry  IV.;"  but  the  truth  is,  that 
almost  insuperable  difficulties  present  themselves  to  either 
hypothesis,  and  wo  doubt  much  whether  the  one  or  the  other 
is  well  founded.  Shakespeare,  having  for  some  reason  been 
induced  to  represent  Falstaff  in  love,  considered  by  what 
persons  he  might  be  immediately  surrounded,  and  Bardolph, 
Pistol,  Nym,  and  Mrs.  Quickly,  naturally  presented  them- 
selves to  his  mind:  he  was  aware  that  the  audience,  with 
whom  they  had  been  favourite  characters,  would  expect  them 
still  tfi  he  Falstaff 's  companions;  and  though  Shakespeare 
had  in  fact  hanged  two  of  them  in  "  Henry  V.,"  and  Mrs. 
Quickly  had  died,  lie  might  trust  to  the  forgetfulness  of  those 
before  "whom  the  comedy  was  to  be  represented,  and  care 
little  for  the  consideration,  since  so  eagerly  debated,  in  what 
part  of  the  series  "  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor"  ought  to 
be  read :  Shakespeare  might'sit  down  to  write  the  comedy 
wit.hout  reflecting  upon  the  manner  in  which  he  had  previ- 
ously disposed  of  some  of  the  characters  he  was  about  to  in- 
troduce. Any  other  mode  of  solving  the  modern  difficulty 
seems  unsatisfactory,  and  we  do  not  believe  that  it  ever  pre- 
sented itself  to  the  mind  of  our  great  dramatist. 

The  earliest  notice  of  any  of  the  persons  in  "  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor"  is  contained  in  Dekker's  play  called 
"Satiromastix,"  1602,  where  one  of  the  characters  observes, 
"  We  must  have  false  fires  to  amaze  these  spangle-babies, 
these  true  heirs  of  master  Justice  Shallow."  This  allusion 
must  have  been  made  soon  after  Shakespeare's  comedy  had 
appeared,  unless,  indeed,  it  were  to  the  Justice  Shallow  of 
"  Henry  IV."  part  ii. 

With  regard  to  the  supposed  sources  of  the  plot,  they  have 
all  been  collected  by  Mr.  Halliwell  in  the  appendix  to  his  re 
print  of  the  imperfect  edition  of  "  The  Merry  Wives  of  Wind- 
sor," in  1602:  the  tale  of  "The  Two  Lovers  of  Pisa,"  the 
only  known  English  version  of  the  time,  is  also  contained  in 
"Shakespeare's  Library,"  Vol.  ii.;  but  our  opinion  is,  that 
the  true  original  of  the  story  (if  Shakespeare  did  not  himself 
invent  the  incidents)  has  not  come  down  to  us. 

VOL.  i.  23 


DRAMATIS  PERSONJE. 

Sir  JOHN  FALSTAFF. 

FENTON. 

SHALLOW,  a  Country  Justice. 

SLENDER,  Cousin  to  Shallow. 

PAGE'  }  Two  Gentlemen  dulling  at  Windsor 

WILLIAM  PAGE,  a  Boy,  Son  to  Mr.  Page. 

Sir  HUGH  EVANS,  a  Welsh  Parson. 

Dr.  CAIUS,  a  French  Physician. 

Host  of  the  Garter  Inn. 

BARDOLPH,  ) 

PISTOL.        >  Followers  of  Falstaff. 

NYM,  } 

ROBIN,  Page  to  Falstaff. 

SIMPLE,  Servant  to  Slender. 

JOHN  RUGBY,  Servant  to  Dr.  Caius. 

Mrs.  FORD. 

Mrs.  PAGE. 

ANNE  PAGE,  her  Daughter,  in  love  with  Fenton. 

Mrs.  QWICKLY,  Servant  to  Dr.  Caius. 

Servants  to  Page,  Ford,  &c. 
SCENE,  Windsor ;  and  the  Parts  adjacent. 


THE 

MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.— Windsor.     Before  PACK'S  House. 

Enter  Justice  SHALLOW,  SLENDER,  and  Sir  HUGH 
EVANS. 

SJial.  Sir1  Hugh,  persuade  me  not ;  I  will  make  a 
Star-chamber  matter  of  it :  if  he  were  twenty  sir  John 
Falstaffs,  he  shall  not  abuse  Robert  Shallow,  esquire. 

Slen.  In  the  county  of  Gloster.  justice  of  peace,  and 
coram. 

Sfial.  Ay,  cousin  Slender,  and  cust-alorum. 

Slen.  Ay,  and  ratolorum  too ;  and  a  gentleman  born, 
master  parson ;  who  writes  himself  armigero ;  in  any 
bill,  warrant,  quittance,  or  obligation,  armigero. 

Shal.  Ay,  that  I  do ;  and  have  done  any  time  these 
three  hundred  years. 

Slen.  All  his  successors,  gone  before  him,  have  done 't; 
and  all  his  ancestors,  that  come  after  him,  may :  they 
may  give  the  dozen  white  luces3  in  their  coat. 

Shal.  It  is  an  old  coat. 

Eva.  The  dozen  white  louses  do  become  an  old  coat 
well ;  it  agrees  well,  passant :  it  is  a  familiar  beast  to 
man,  and  signifies  love. 

Shal.  The  luce  is  the  fresh  fish ;  the  salt  fish  is  an 
old  coat. 

Slen.  I  may  quarter,  coz? 

Shal.  You  may,  by  marrying. 

Eva.  It  is  marring,  indeed,  if  he  quarter  it. 

Skal.  Not  a  wlxit. 

Eva.  Yes,  per-lady :  if  he  has  a  quarter  of  your  coat, 
there  is  but  three  skirts  for  yourself,  in  my  simple  con- 
jectures. But  that  is  all  one :  if  sir  John  Falstaff  have 

iA  title  by  which  the  clersry  were  ordinarily  addressed.  a  The 
old  name  for  a  pike — an  allusion  to  the  coat  of  arms  of  the  Lucy?' 
three  luces. 


136  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.         ACT  I. 

committed  disparagements  unto  you,  I  am  of  the  church, 
and  will  be  glad  to  do  my  benevolence,  to  make  atone- 
ments and  compromises  between  you. 

Shal.  The  council  shall  hear  it :  it  is  a  riot. 

Eva.  It  is  not  meet  the  council  hear  a  riot ;  there  is 
no  fear  of  Got  in  a  riot.  The  council,  look  you,  shall 
desire  to  hear  the  fear  of  Got,  and  not  to  hear  a  riot : 
take  your  vizaments  in  that. 

Shal.  Ha !  o'  my  life,  if  I  were  young  again  the 
sword  should  end  it. 

Era.  It  is  petter  that  friends  is  the  sword,  and  end 
it :  and  there  is  also  another  device  in  my  prain,  which, 
peradventure,  prings  goot  discretions  with  it.  There 
is  Anne  Page,  which  is  daughter  to  master  George  Page, 
which  is  pretty  virginity. 

Slen.  Mistress  Anne  Page  ?  She  has  brown  hair,  and 
speaks  small,  like  a  woman. 

Eva.  It  is  that  fery  person  for  all  the  orld  ;  as  just  as 
you  will  desire,  and  seven  hundred  pounds  of  monies, 
and  gold,  and  silver,  is  her  grandsire,  upon  his  death's- 
bed  (Got  deliver  to  a  joyful  resurrections  !)  give,  when 
she  is  able  to  overtake  seventeen  years  old.  It  were  a 
goot  motion,  if  we  leave  our  pribbles  and  prabbles,  and 
desire  a  marriage  between  master  Abraham,  and  mis- 
tress Anne  Page. 

Skn.  Did  her  grandsire  leave  her  seven  hundred 
pound? 

Eva.  Ay,  and  her  father  is  make  her  a  petter 
penny. 

Slen.  I  know  the  young  gentlewoman ;  she  has  good 
gifts. 

Eva.  Seven  hundred  pounds,  and  possibilities,  is 
good  gifts. 

Shal.  Well,  let  us  see  honest  master  Page.  Is  Fal- 
BtafF  there  ? 

Eva.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  lie?  I  do  despise  a  liar,  as 
I  do  despise  one  that  is  false ;  or,  as  I  despise  one  that 
is  not  true.  The  knight,  sir  John,  is  there;  and,  I 
beseech  you,  be  ruled  by  your  well-willers.  I  will 
peat  the  door  for  master  Page.  [Knocks.]  What,  hoa  ! 
Got  plcss  your  house  here  ! 

Page.  Who 's  there  ?  [Above,  at  the  wmdmv.1 

Eva.  Here  is  Got's  plessing,  and  your  friend,  and 

»  Enter  Page :  in  f.  e. 


SC.  I.          THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  137 

justice  Shallow ;  and  here  young  master  Slender,  that 
perad ventures,  shall  tell  you  another  tale,  if  matters 
grow  to  your  likings. 

Enter  PAGE.' 

Page.  I  am  glad  to  sec  your  worships  well.  I  thank 
you  for  my  venison,  master  Shallow. 

Shal.  Master  Page,  I  am  glad  to  see  you:  much 
good  do  it  your  good  heart.  I  wished  your  venison 
better ;  it  was  ill  kill'd. — How  doth  good  mistress 
Page  ? — and  I  thank  you  always  with  my  heart,  la ; 
with  my  heart. 

Page.  Sir,  I  thank  you. 

Shal.  Sir,  I  thank  you ;  by  yea  and  no,  I  do. 

Page.  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  good  master  Slender. 

Slen.  How  does  your  fallow  greyhound,  sir?  I 
heard  say,  he  was  outrun  on  Cotsold.8 

Page.  It  could  not  be  judg'd,  sir. 

Sim.  You  '11  not  confess,  you  '11  not  confess. 

Shal.  That  he  will  not ; — 't  is  your  fault,  't  is  your 
fault. — 'T  is  a  good  dog. 

Page.  A  cur.  sir. 

Shal.  Sir.  he's  a  good  dog,  and  a  fair  dog;  can 
there  be  more  said?  he  is  good,  and  fair.  Is  sir  John 
Falstaff  here  ? 

Page.  Sir,  he  is  within ;  and  I  would  I  could  do  a 
good  office  between  you. 

Eva.  It  is  spoke  as  a  Christians  ought  to  speak. 

Shal.  He  hath  wrong'd  me,  master  Page. 

Page.  Sir,  he  doth  in  some  sort  confess  it. 

Shal.  If  it  be  confess'd,  it  is  not  redress'd :  is  not 
that  so.  master  Page  ?  He  hath  wrong'd  me ;  indeed, 
he  hath : — at  a  word,  he  hath ; — believe  me : — Robert 
Shallow,  esquire,  saith  he  is  wrong'd. 

Page.  Here  comes  sir  John. 
Enter  Sir  JOHN  FALSTAFF,  BARDOLPH,  NYM,  and 
PISTOL. 

Fal.  Now,  master  Shallow ;  you  '11  complain  of  me 
to  the  king  ? 

Shal.  Knight,  you  have  beaten  my  men,  killed  mv 
deer,  and  broke  open  my  lodge. 

Fal.  But  not  kiss'd  your  keeper's  daughter. 

Shal.  Tut,  a  pin  !  this  shall  be  answered. 

»  Not  in  f.  e.  2  Cotsall  :  in  f.  e.  Cotswold-downs,  in  Gloucester- 
shire a  famous  place  for  rural  sports 


138  THE    MERRY    "WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.         ACT  I. 

Fal.  I  will  answer  it  straight : — I  have  done  all 
this. — That  is  now  answered. 

Shal.  The  council  shall  know  this. 

Fal.  'Twere  better  for  you,  if  it  were  known  in 
counsel :  you  '11  be  laughed  at. 

Eva.  Pauca  verba.  sir  John ;  good  worts. 

Fal.  Good  worts  ?l  good  cabbage. — Slender,  I  broko 
your  head  ;  what  matter  have  you  against  me  ? 

Slen.  Marry,  sir.  I  have  matter  in  my  head  against 
you  ;  and  against  your  coney-catching  rascals,  Bar- 
dolph,  Nym,  and  Pistol.  They  carried  me  to  the 
tavern,  and  made  me  drunk,  and  afterwards  picked 
my  pocket. 

Bard.  You  Banbury  cheese.* 

Slen.  Ay,  it  is  no  matter. 

Pist.  How  now,  Mephostophilus  ? 

Slen.  Ay,  it  is  no  matter. 

Nym.  Slice,  I  say !  pauca,  pauca ;  slice !  that 's  my 
humour. 

Slen.  Where's  Simple,  my  man?  —  can  you  tell, 
cousin  ? 

Eva.  Peace  !  I  pray  you.     Now  let  us  understand  . 
there  is  three  umpires  in  this  matter,  as  I  understamd 
that  is — master  Page,  fidelieet,  master  Page ;  and  there 
is   myself,  fidelicet,  myself;    and  the  three  party  is, 
lastly  and  finally,  mine  host  of  the  Garter. 

Page.  We  three,  to  hear  it,  and  end  it  between 
them. 

•Eva.  Fery  goot :  I  will  make  a  prief  of  it  in  my 
note  oook ;  and  we  will  afterwards  'ork  upon  the 
cause,  with  as  great  discreetly  as  we  can. 

FaL  Pistol! 

Pist.  He  hears  with  ears. 

Eva.  The  tevil  and  his  tarn !  what  phrase  is  this  ? 
"  He  hears  with  ear?"  Why,  it  is  affectations. 

Fal.  Pistol,  did  you  pick  master  Slender's  purse  ? 

Slen.  Ay,  by  these  gloves,  did  he,  (or  I  would  I 
might  never  come  in  mine  own  great  chamber  again 
else)  of  seven  groats  in  mill-sixpences,  and  two  Edward 
shovel-boards,3  that  cost  me  two  shilling  and  two  pence 
a-piece  of  Yed  Miller,  by  these  gloves. 

i  The  old  name  for  cabbage.  »  This  cheese  was  extremely  thin. 
1  Shilling  pieces,  used  in  plavjng;  shuffle-board,  and  probably  better 
fitted  for  the  game  by  being  heavier  than  the  common  coin,  and  so 
eommanding  a  premium. 


6C.   1.          THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  139 

Fal.  Is  this  true,  Pistol  ? 

Eva.  No ;  it  is  false,  if  it  is  a  pick-purse. 

Pi  tit.  Ha,  thou  mountain- foreigner  ! — Sir  John  and 

master  mine, 

I  combat  challenge  of  this  latten  bilbo  :l 
Word  of  denial  in  thy  labras2  here ; 
Word  of  denial ;  froth  and  scum,  thou  liest. 

Slen.  By  these  gloves,  then  't  was  he. 

Nym.  Be  advised,  sir,  and  pass  good  humours.  I  will 
&ay,  "  marry  trap,"  with  you,  if  you  run  the  nuthook's1 
humour  on  me ;  that  is  the  very  note  of  it. 

Slen.  By  this  hat,  then  he  in  the  red  face  had  it ;  for 
though  I  cannot  remember  what  I  did  when  you  made 
me  drunk,  yet  I  am  not  altogether  an  ass. 

Fal.  What  say  you,  Scarlet  and  John  ?* 

Bard.  Why,  sir,  for  my  part,  I  say,  the  gentleman 
had  drunk  himself  out  of  his  five  sentences. 

Eva.  It  is  his  five  senses  :  fie,  what  the  ignorance  is ! 

Bard.  And  being  fap,  sir,  was,  as  they  say,  cashier'd ; 
and  so  conclusions  pass;d  the  carieres.6 

Slen.  Ay,  you  spake  in  Latin  then  too ;  but  't  is  no 
matter.  I  '11  ne'er  be  drunk  whilst  I  live  again,  but 
in  honest,  civil,  godly  company,  for  this  trick :  if  I  be 
drunk,  I  '11  be  drunk  with  those  that  have  the  fear  of 
God.  and  not  with  drunken  knaves. 

Eva.  So  Got  'udge  me,  that  is  a  virtuous  mind. 

Fal.  You  hear  all  these  matters  denied,  gentlemen ; 
you  hear  it. 

Enter  ANNE  PAGE  with  wine  ;  and  Mistress  FORD  ana 
Mistress  PAGE. 

Page.  Nay,  daughter,  carry  the  wine  in ;  we  '11  drink 
within.  [Exit  ANNE  PAGE. 

Slen.  Oh  heaven !  this  is  mistress  Anne  Page. 

[Following  and  looking  after  her."1 

Page.  How  now,  mistress  Ford  ! 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford,  by  my  troth,  you  are  very  well 
met :  by  your  leave,  good  mistress.  [Kissing  her 

Page.  Wife,  bid  these  gentlemen  welcome. — Come, 

'  latten,  a  composition  of  copper  and  calamine,  made  into  thin 
plates  ;  bilbo,  is  a  Bilboa  blade  or  sword.  2  lips.  3  Instrument  used 
oy  a  thief  to  hook  things  from  a  window  ;  he  means,  "  if  you  say 
I -'ma  thief."  *  Two  of  Robin  Hood's  merry  men.  *  Fuddled.  «A 
term  in  horsemanship,  for  galloping  a  horse  backwards  and  forwards 
'  This  direction  is  not  in  f.  e. 


140  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.          ACT  I 

we  have  a  hot  venison  pasty  to  dinner :  come,  gentle- 
men, I  hope  we  shall  drink  down  all  unkindncss. 

[Exevnt  all  but  SHALLOW,  SLENDER,  and  EVANS. 

Slen.  I  had  rather  than  forty  shillings,  I  had  my 
book  of  songs  and  sonnets  here. — 
Enter  SIMPLE. 

How  now,  Simple  !  Where  have  you  been?  I  must 
wait  on  myself,  must  I  ?  You  have  not  the  book  of 
riddles  about  you,  have  you? 

Sim.  Book  of  riddles !  why,  did  you  not  lend  it  to 
^.iice  Shortcake  upon  Allhallowmas  last,  a  fortnight 
afore  Michaelmas? 

Shal.  Come,  coz ;  come,  coz ;  we  stay  for  you.  A 
word  with  you.  coz ;  marry,  this,  coz :  there  is.  aa 
't  were,  a  tender,  a  kind  of  tender,  made  afar  off  by  sir 
Hugh  here :  do  you  understand  me  ? 

Slen.  Ay.  sir,  you  shall  find  me  reasonable :  if  it  be 
so,  I  shall  do  that  that  is  reason. 

Shal.  Nay,  but  understand  me. 

Slen.  So  I  do,  sir. 

Eva.  Give  ear  to  his  motions,  master  Slender.  I  will 
description  the  matter  to  you,  if  you  be  capacity  of  it. 

Slen.  Nay,  I  will  do  as  my  cousin  Shallow  says.  I 
pray  you,  pardon  me ;  he  Js  a  justice  of  peace  in  his 
country,  simple  though  I  stand  here. 

Eva.  But  that  is  not  the  question :  the  question  is 
concerning  your  marriage. 

Shal.  Ay,  there  's  the  point,  sir. 

Eva.  Marry  is  it,  the  very  point  of  it ;  to  mistress 
Anne  Page. 

Slen.  Why,  if  it  be  so,  I  will  marry  her  upon  any 
reasonable  demands. 

Eva.  But  can  you  affection  the  'oman?  Let  us  de- 
mand1 to  know  that  of  your  mouth,  or  of  your  lips ;  for 
divers  philosophers  hold,  that  the  lips  is  parcel  of  the 
mouth :  therefore,  precisely,  can  you  carry  your  good 
will  to  the  maid  ? 

Shal.  Cousin  Abraham  Slender,  can  you  love  her  ? 

Slen.  I  hope,  sir,  I  will  do,  as  it  shall  become  one 
that  would  do  reason. 

Eva.  Nay,  Got's  lords  and  his  ladies,  you  must 
speak  possitable,  if  you  can  carry  her  your  desirei 
towards  her. 

1  command  :  in  f.  e 


SO.  I.  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  141 


Shal.  That  you  must.  Will  you,  upon  good  dowry, 
marry  her  ? 

Slen.  I  will  do  a  greater  thing  than  that,  upon  yout 
request  cousin,  in  any  reason. 

Shal.  Nay.  conceive  me,  conceive  me,  sweet  coz: 
what  I  do,  is  to  pleasure  you,  coz.  Can  you  love  the 
maid? 

Skn.  I  will  marry  her,  sir,  at  your  request;  but  if 
there  be  no  great  love  in  the  beginning,  yet  heaven 
may  decrease  it  upon  better  acquaintance,  when  we  are 
married,  and  have  more  occasion  to  know  one  another. 
I  hope,  upon  familiarity  will  grow  more  contempt : 
but  if  you  say,  "  marry  her,"  I  will  marry  her ;  that 
I  am  freely  dissolved,  and  dissolutely. 

Eva.  It  is  a  fery  discretion  answer :  save,  the  fault 
is  in  the  'ort  dissolutely :  the  'ort  is.  according  to  our 
meaning,  resolutely. — His  meaning  is  good. 

Shal.  Ay,  I  think  my  cousin  meant  well. 

Slen.  Ay.  or  else  I  would  I  might  be  hanged,  la. 
Re-enter  ANNE  PAGE. 

Shal.  Here  comes  fair  mistress  Anne. — Would  I 
•were  young,  for  your  sake,  mistress  Anne  ! 

Anne.  The  dinner  is  on  the  table ;  my  father  desires 
your  worship's  company. 

Shal.  I  will  wait  on  him,  fair  mistress  Anne. 

Eva.  Od's  plessed  will  !  I  will  not  be  absence  at  the 
grace.  [Exeunt  SHALLOW  and  EVANS. 

Anne.  Will 't  please  your  worship  to  come  in,  sir  ? 

Slen.  No,  I  thank  you,  forsooth,  heartily ;  I  am  very 
well. 

Anne.  The  dinner  attends  you,  sir. 

Slen.  I  am  not  a-hungry.  I  thank  you.  forsooth. — Go, 
eirrah,  for  all  you  are  my  man.  go,  wait  upon  my  cousin 
Shallow.  [Exit  SIMPLE.]  A  justice  of  peace  sometime 
may  be  beholding  to  his  friend  for  a  man. — I  keep  but 
three  men  and  a  boy  yet,  till  my  mother  be  dead  :  but 
what  though  ?  yet  I  live  like  a  poor  gentleman  born. 

Anne.  I  may  not  go  in  without  your  worship  :  they 
will  not  sit.  till  you  come. 

Slen.  F  faith,  I  ;11  eat  nothing :  I  thank  you  as  much 
as  though  I  did. 

Anne.  1  pray  you,  sir,  walk  in. 

Slen.  I  had  rather  walk  here,  I  thank  yon.  1  bruised 
my  shin  the  other  day  with  playing  at  sword  and  dagger 


142  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.         ACT  I, 

with  a  master  of  fence,  (three  veneys  for  a  dish  o' 
stewed  prunes)  and,  by  my  troth,  I  cannot  abide  the 
smell  of  hot  meat  since.  Why  do  your  dogs  bark  eo  ' 
be  there  bears  i'  the  town?  [Dogs  bark.1 

Anne.  I  think,  there  are,  sir  :  I  heard  them  talked  ot. 

Slen.  I  love  the  sport  well ;  but  I  shall  as  soon 
quarrel  at  it  as  any  man  in  England.  You  are  afraid, 
if  you  see  the  bear  loose,  are  you  not  ? 

Anne.  Ay,  indeed,  sir. 

Slen.  That 's  meat  and  drink  to  me,  now :  I  have  seen 
Sackerson*  loose,  twenty  times,  and  have  taken  him 
by  the  chain ;  but,  I  warrant  you,  the  women  have  so 
cried  and  shriek' d  at  it,  that  it  pass'd* :  but  women, 
indeed,  cannot  abide  'em ;  they  are  very  ill-favoured 
rough  things. 

Re-enter  PAGE. 

Page.  Come,  gentle  master  Slender,  come ;  we  stay 
for  you. 

Slen.  I  '11  eat  nothing,  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Page.  By  cock  and  pye,  you  shall  not  choose,  sir. 
Come,  come. 

Skn.  Nay ;  pray  you.  lead  the  way. 

Page.  Come  on,  sir. 

Slen.  Mistress  Anne,  yourself  shall  go  first. 

Anne.  Not  I,  sir ;  pray  you,  keep  on. 

Slen.  Truly,  I  will  not  go  first :  truly,  la,  I  will  not 
do  you  that  wrong. 

Anne.  I  pray  you.  sir. 

Slen.  I  '11  rather  be  unmannerly,  than  troublesome. 
You  do  yourself  wrong,  indeed,  la.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— The  Same. 
Enter  Sir  HUGH  EVANS  and  SIMPLE. 

Eva.  Go  your  ways,  and  ask  of  doctor  Caius'  house, 
•which  is  the  way;  and  there  dwells  one  mistress 
Quickly,  which  is  in  the  manner  of  his  nurse,  or  his 
dry  nurse,  or  his  cook,  or  his  laundry,  his  washer,  and 
his  wringer. 

Sim.  Well,  sir. 

.F'Yi.  Nay,  it  is  petter  yet. — Give  her  this  letter ;  foi 
it  is  a  'oman  that  altogether 's  acquaintance  with  mis- 
tress Anne  Page  :  and  the  letter  is,  to  desire  and  require 

"•  Not  in  f.  e.  *  A  famous  bear,  often  baited  at  Paris  Garden 
•  expression. 


SO.  III.       THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  143 

her  to  solicit  year  'master's  desires  to  mistress  Anne 
Page  :  I  pray  you,  be  gone.  I  will  make  an  end  of  my 
dinner  :  there  's  pippins  and  cheese  to  come.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  III. — A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 

Enter  FALSTAFF,  Host,  BARDOLPH.  NYM,  PISTOL,  and 
ROBIN, 

Fal.  Mine  host  of  the  Garter  ! 

Host.  What  says  my  bully-rook1  ?  Speak  scholarly, 
and  wisely. 

Fal.  Truly,  mine  host,  I  must  turn  away  some  of  my 
followers. 

Host.  Discard,  bully  Hercules;  cashier:  let  them 
wag ;  trot,  trot. 

Fal.  I  sit  at  ten  pounds  a-week. 

Host.  Thou  'rt  an  emperor,  Csesar,  Keisar,  and 
Pheazar.  I  will  entertain  Bardolph :  he  shall  draw, 
he  shall  tap  :  said  I  well,  bully  Hector  ? 

Fal.  Do  so,  good  mine  host. 

Host.  I  have  spoke  ;  let  him  follow. — Let  me  see  thee 
froth,  and  lime2 :  I  am  at  a  word ;  follow.  [Exit  Host 

Fal.  Bardolph,  follow  him.  A  tapster  is  a  good 
trade  :  an  old  cloak  makes  a  new  jerkin ;  a  withered 
servingman.  a  fresh  tapster.  Go ;  adieu. 

Bard.  It  is  a  life  that  I  have  desired.  I  will  thrive. 
[Exit  BARDOLPH. 

Fist.  0  base  Gongarian3  wight !  wilt  thou  the  spigot 
wield? 

Nym.  He  was  gotten  in  drink :  is  not  the  humour 
conceited  ?  His  mind  is  not  heroic,  and  there  's  the 
humour  of  it. 

Fal.  I  am  glad  I  am  so  acquit  of  this  tinder-box: 
his  thefts  were  too  open ;  his  filching  was  like  an  un- 
fckilful  singer,  he  kept  not  time. 

Nym.  The  good  humour  is  to  steal  at  a  minim's*  rest. 

Pist.  Convey  the  wise  it  call.  Steal  ?  foh !  a  fico 
for  the  phrase  ! 

Fal.  Well,  sirs,  I  am  almost  out  at  heels. 

Pist.  Why  then,  let  kibes  ensue. 

Fal.  There  is  no  remedy;  I  must  coney-catch,  I 
must  shift. 

'  A  sharper.  '  Froth  heer  by  putting  in  soap,  adding  lime  to  stick 
to  make  it  foam.  3  Some  read  :  Hungarian,  i.  e.,  Bohemian  or 
Sfipsy.  *  minute's  :  in  f.  e 


144  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.        ACT  L 

Pint.  Young  ravens  must  have  food. 

Fal.  Which  of  you  know  Ford  of  this  town  ? 

Pint .  I  ken  the  wight :  he  is  of  substance  good 

Fal.  My  honest  lads,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  am  about 

Pint.  Two  yards,  and  more. 

Fal.  No  quips  now,  Pistol.  Indeed  I  am  in  the  waist 
two  yards  about :  but  I  am  now  about  no  waste :  I  am 
about  thrift.  Briefly,  I  do  mean  to  make  love  to  Ford's 
wife :  I  spy  entertainment  in  her ;  she  discourses,  she 
craves,1  she  gives  the  leer  of  invitation :  I  can  construe 
the  action  of  her  familiar  style  ;  and  the  hardest  voice 
of  her  behaviour,  to  be  Englished  rightly,  is,  "  I  am  sir 
John  Falstaff's." 

Pitt.  He  hath  studied  her  will,  and  translated  her 
well8;  out  of  honesty  into  English. 

Nym.  The  anchor  is  deep  :  will  that  humour  pass  ? 

Fal.  Now.  the  report  goes,  she  has  all  the  rule  of  her 
husband's  purse ;  he  hath  a  legion  of  angels. 

Pitt.  As  many  devils  entertain,  and  "  To  her,  boy," 
say  I. 

Nym.  The  humour  rises;  it  is  good  :  humour  me  the 
angels.1 

Fal.  I  have  writ  me  here  a  letter  to  her;  and  here 
another  to  Page's  wife,  who  even  now  gave  me  good 
eyes  too,  examin'd  my  parts  with  most  judicious 
osiliads  :  sometimes  the  beam  of  her  view  gilded  my 
foot,  sometimes  my  portly  belly. 

Pist.  Then  did  the  sun  on  dunghill  shine. 

Nym.  I  thank  thee  for  that  humour. 

Fal.  0 !  she  did  so  course  o'er  my  exteriors  with  such 
a  greedy  intention,  that  the  appetite  of  her  eye  did 
seem  to  scorch  me  up  like  a  burning  glass.  Here  's 
another  letter  to  her :  she  bears  the  purse  too ;  she  is  a 
reg:on  in  Guiana,  all  gold  and  beauty.*  I  will  be 
cheater*  to  them  both,  and  they  shall  be  exchequers  to 
me :  they  shall  be  my  East  and  West  Indies,  and  J 
will  trade  to  them  both.  Go,  bear  thou  this  letter  to 
mistress  Page ;  and  thou  this  to  mistress  Ford.  We 
will  thrive,  lads,  we  will  thrive. 

Pist.  Shall  I  sir  Pandarus  of  Troy  become, 
And  by  my  side  wear  steel  ?  then,  Lucifer  take  all ! 

Nym.  I  will  run  no  base  humour :  here,  take  the 

»  carves  :  in  f.  e.  *  will  :  in  f.  e.  3  An  old  coin.  »  bounty  ; 
A  f.  e.  »  Escfaator,  an  office  of  tho  Exchequer. 


6C.  IV.        THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  145 

humour-letter.     I    will    keep    the  'haviour  of  repu 
t.ation. 

Fal.  Hold,  sirrah,  [to  ROBIN,]  bear  you  these  letter* 

tightly : 

Sail  like  my  pinnace1  to  these  golden  shores. — 
Rogues,  hence  !  avaunt !  vanish  like  hailstones,  go: 
Trudge,  plod  away  o'  the  hoof ;  seek  shelter,  pack ! 
FulstafF  will  learn  the  humour2  of  the  age, 
French  thrift,  you  rogues  :  myself,  and  skirted  page 

[Exeunt  FALSTAFF  and  ROBIN. 

Fist.  Let  vultures  gripe  thy  guts !  for  gourd,  and 

fullam  holds. 

And  high  and  low3  beguile  the  rich  and  poor. 
Tester*  I  '11  have  in  pouch,  when  thou  shalt  lack, 
Base  Phrygian  Turk.  [veng« 

Nym.  I  have  operations,  which  be  humours  of  re- 

Pist.  Wilt  thou  revenge  ? 

Nym.  By  welkin,  and  her  stars.5 

Pist.  With  wit.  or  steel  ? 

Nym.  With  both  the  humours.  I : 
I  will  discuss  the  humour  of  this  love  to  Page.' 

Pist.  And  I  to  Ford6  shall  eke  unfold, 

How  Falstaff,  varlet  vile, 
His  dove  will  prove,  his  gold  will  hold, 
And  his  soft  couch  defile. 

Nym.  My  humour  shall  not  cool :  I  will  incense 
Page  to  deal  with  poison;  I  will  possess  him  with 
yellowness,  for  the  revolt  of  mine  is  dangerous  :  that 
is  my  true  humour. 

Pist .  Thou  art  the  Mars  of  malcontents :  I  second 
thee :  troop  on.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— A  Room  in  Dr.  CAIUS'S  House. 

Enter  Mrs.  QUICKLY,  SIMPLE,  and  JOHN  RUGBY. 

Quick.  What,  John  Rugby  ! — I  pray  thee.  go  to  the 
casement,  and  see  if  you  can  see  my  master,  master 
doctor  Caius,  coming :  if  he  do.  i'  faith,  and  find  any 
body  in  the  house,  here  will  be  an  old  abusing  of  God's 
patience,  a.nd  the  king's  English. 

Rug.  I  '11  go  watch.  [Exit  RUGBY. 

Quick.  Go;  and  we'll  have  a  posset  for  ;t  soon  at 

1  A  small  vessel ;  the  word  is  often  used  for  a  go-between.  »  The 
folios  and  somo  of  the  f.  e  :  honour.  '  Cant  terms  for  dice.  «  St» 
pence,.  «  star  :  in  f.  e.  «  Knight,  following  the  folio  o 


146  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.         ACT  I 

night,  in  faith,  at  the  latter  end  of  a  sea-coal  fire. — An 
honest,  willing,  kind  fellow,  as  ever  servant  shall  come 
in  house  withal ;  and,  I  warrant  you,  no  tell-tale,  nor 
no  breed-bate1 :  his  worst  fault  is.  that  he  is  given  to 
prayer :  he  is  something  peevish*  that  way,  but  no- 
body but  has  his  fault ;  but  let  that  pass.  Peter  Sim- 
ple, you  say  your  name  is  ? 

Sim.  Ay,  for  fault  of  a  better. 

Quick.  And  master  Slender  's  your  master  ? 

Sim.  Ay,  forsooth. 

Quick.  Does  he  not  wear  a  great  round  beard,  like  a 
glover's  paring-knife  ? 

Sim.  No,  forsooth  :  he  hath  but  a  little  wee  face, 
•with  a  little  yellow  beard  ;  a  Cain-coloured  beard.8 

Quick.  A  softly-sprighted  man,  is  he  not  ? 

Sim.  Ay,  forsooth ;  but  he  is  as  tall*  a  man  of  his 
hands,  as  any  is  between  this  and  his  head :  lie  hath 
fought  with  a  warrener. 

Quick.  How  say  you  ? — 0  !  I  should  remember  him : 
does  he  not  hold  up  his  head,  as  it  were,  and  strut  in 
his  gait  ? 

Sim.  Yes,  indeed,  does  he. 

Quick.  Well,  heaven  send  Anne  Page  no  worse  for- 
tune !  Tell  master  parson  Evans,  I  will  do  what  I  can 
for  your  master :  Anne  is  a  good  girl,  and  I  wish — 

Re-enter  RUGBY,  running. 

Rug.  Out,  alas !  here  comes  my  master. 

Quick.  We  shall  all  be  shent.5  Run  in  here,  good 
young  man ;  go  into  this  closet.  [Shuts  SIMPLE  in  the 
closet]  He  will  not  stay  long. — What,  John  Rugby  ! 
John,  what,  John,  I  say  ! — Go,  John,  go  inquire  for  my* 
master ;  [Exit  RUGBY.']  I  doubt,  he  be  not  well,  that 
he  comes  not  home : — "  and  down,  down,  adown-a," 
&c.  [Sings. 

Enter  Doctor  CAIUS. 

Caius.  Vat  is  you  sing  ?  I  do  not  like  dese  toys. 
Pray  you.  go  and  vetch  me  in  my  closet  un  boitier 
vcrd;  a  box,  a  green-a  box ;  do  intend  vat  I  speak  ?  a 
green-a  box. 

Quick.  Ay,  forsooth ;  I  '11  fetch  it  you.  [Aside]  I  am 

•  Debate.  *  Silly.  »Thc  quartos  have  can«-colored— Cain  vrna 
Minted  in  old  tapestries  with  a  yellow  beard.  *  Fine.  *  Scolded 
*  Knight's  ed.  :  thy.  1  Not  in  f.  e. 


BC,  IV.        THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  147 

glad  he  went  not  in  himself:  if  he  had  found  the  young 
man,  he  would  have  been  horn-mad. 

Caius.  jFe,/e,  /e,  fe  !  mafoi,  il  fait  fort  chaud.  Jt 
mi' en  vais  d  la  c.our. — la  grande  affaire. 

Quick.  Is  it  this',  sir  ? 

Caius.  Oui ;  mette  le  au  mm  pocket ;  depeche,  quickly. 
— Vere  is  dat  knave  Rugby  ? 

Quick.  What,  John  Rugby  !  John  ! 

Rug.  Here,  sir.  [Enter  RUGBY.* 

Caius.  You  are  John  Rugby,  and  you  are  Jack 
Rugby  :  come,  take-a  your  rapier,  and  come  after  my 
heel  to  de  court. 

Rug.  ;T  is  ready,  sir,  here  in  the  porch. 

Cains.  By  my  trot,  I  tarry  too  long. — Od's  me  ! 
Qit'aifoublie?  dere  is  some  simples  in  my  closet,  dat  I 
vill  not  for  the  varld  I  shall  leave  behind.  [Going  toil.3 

Quick.  [Aside.]  Ah  me !  he  '11  find  the  young  man 
there,  and  be  mad. 

Caius.  0  diable,  diable  !  vat  is  in  my  closet  ? — Vil- 
lainy !  larron !  [Dragging*  SIMPLE  out.]  Rugby,  my 
rapier  ! 

Quick.  Good  master,  be  content. 
•     Caius.  Verefore  shall  I  be  content-a? 

Quick.  The  young  man  is  an  honest  man. 

Caius.  Vat  shall  the  honest  man  do  in  my  closet? 
dere  is  no  honest  man  dat  shall  come  in  my  closet. 

Quick.  I  beseech  you,  be  not  so  phlegmatic.  Hear 
the  truth  of  it :  he  came  of  an  errand  to  me  from  parson 
Hugh. 

Caius.  Veil. 

Sim.  Ay.  forsooth,  to  desire  her  to — 

Quick.  Peace,  I  pray  you. 

Caius.  Peace-a  your  tongue  ! — Speak-a  your  tale. 

Sim.  To  desire  this  honest  gentlewoman,  your  maid 
to  speak  a  good  word  to  mistress  Anne  Page  for  my 
master,  in  the  way  of  marriage. 

Quick.  This  is  all.  indeed,  la  ;  but  I  '11  ne'er  put  my 
finger  in  the  fire,  and  need  not. 

Caius.  Sir  Hugh  send-a  you? — Rugby,  baillez  me 
some  paper:  tarry  you  a  littel-a  while.  [Writes. 

Quick.  I  am  glad  he  is  so  quiet :  if  he  had  been  tho- 
roughly moved,  you  should  have  heard  him  HO  loud,  and 
so  melancholy. — But  notwithstanding,  man,  I  ;11  doy^r 
J  »  Not  in  f.  e.    »  Pulling :  in  f.  e. 


148  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.         ACT  I. 

your  master  what  good  I  can :  and  the  very  yea  and 
the  no  is,  the  French  doctor,  my  master, — I  may  call 
him  my  master,  look  you,  for  I  keep  his  house  ;  and  1 
wash,  wring,  brew,  bake,  scour,  dress  meat  and  drink, 
make  the  beds,  and  do  all  myself. — 

Sim.  'T  is  a  great  charge,  to  come  under  one  body'i 
hand. 

Quick.  Are  you  avis'd  o'  that?  you  shall  find  it  a 
great  charge:  and  to  be  up  early  and  down  late  : — tut 
notwithstanding,  to  tell  you  in  your  ear.  (I  would  have 
no  words  of  it)  my  master  himself  is  in  love  with  mis- 
tress Anne  Page  :  but  notwithstanding  that.  1  know 
Anne's  mind ;  that 's  neither  here  nor  there. 

Caius.  You  jack'nape,  give-a  dis  letter  to  Sir  Hugh. 
By  gar.  it  is  a  shallenge  :  I  vill  cut  his  troat  in  de  park ; 
and  I  vill  teach  a  scurvy  jack-a-nape  priest  to  meddle 
or  make. — You  may  be  gone  ;  it  is  not  good  you  tarry 
here  : — by  gar,  I  vill  cut  all  his  two  stones:  by  gar,  he 
shall  not  have  a  stone  to  trow  at  his  dog. 

[Exit  SIMPLE. 

Quick.  Alas  !  he  speaks  but  for  his  friend. 

Caius.  It  is  no  matter-a  for  dat : — do  not  you  tell-a 
me,  dat  I  shall  have  Anne  Page  for  myself? — By  gar.  I 
vill  kill  de  Jack  priest ;  and  I  have  appointed  mine 
Host  of  de  Jarrctiere  to  measure  our  weapon. — By  gar, 
I  vill  myself  have  Anne  Page. 

Quick.  Sir.  the  maid  loves  you,  and  all  shall  be 
well.  We  must  give  folks  leave  to  prate  :  what,  the 
good  year ! 

Cains.  Rugby,  come  to  the  court  vit  me. — By  gar,  if 
I  have  not  Anne  Page,  I  shall  turn  your  head  out  of 
my  door. — Follow  my  heels.  Rugby. 

[Exeunt  CAIUS  and  RUGBY. 

Quick.  You  shall  have  An  fool's-head  of  your  own. 
No.  I  know  Anne's  mind  for  that :  never  a  woman  in 
Windsor  knows  more  of  Anne's  mind  than  I  do,  nor  can 
do  more  than  I  do  with  her.  I  thank  heaven. 

Pent.  [Within.]  Who's  within  there,  ho? 

Quick.  Who 's  there,  I  trow  ?  Come  near  the  house, 
I  pray  you. 

Enter  FENTON. 

Pent.  How  now.  good  woman  !  how  dost  thou  ? 

Quirk  The  better,  that  it  pleases  your  good  woi>hir 
to  ask. 


8C.  I.  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  149 

Fcnt.  What  news  ?  how  does  pretty  mistress  Anne? 

Quick.  In  (ruth.  sir.  and  she  is  pretty,  and  honest, 
and  gentle  :  and  one  that  is  your  friend.  I  can  tell  you 
that  by  the  way  :  I  praise  heaven  for  it. 

Fcnt.  Shall  1  do  any  good,  think'st  tliou  ?  Shall  I 
not  lose  my  suit? 

Quick.  Troth,  sir.  all  is  in  his  hands  above  ;  but  not- 
withstanding, master  Fenton.  I  'II  be  sworn  on  a  book, 
she  loves  you. — Have  not  your  worship  a  wart  above 
your  eye  ? 

Fcnt.  Yes.  marry,  have  I  :  what  of  that  ? 

Quick.  Well,  thereby  hangs  a  tale. — Good  faith,  it 
is  such  another  Nan  ; — but.  I  detest,  an  honest  maid  as 
ever  broke  bread  : — we  had  an  hours  talk  of  that  wart. 
— I  shall  never  laugh  but  in  that  maid's  company  : — 
but.  indeed,  she  is  given  too  much  to  allicholly  and 
musing.  But  for  you — well,  go  to. 

Fcnt.  Well.  I  shall  see  her  to-day.  Hold,  there  '• 
money  for  thee  ;  let  me  have  thy  voice  in  my  behalf : 
if  thou  seest  her  before  me,  commend  me — 

Quick.  Will  I  !  r  faith,  that  I1  will :  and  1  will  tell 
your  worship  more  of  the  wart,  the  next  time  we  have 
confidence,  and  of  other  wooers. 

Pent.  Well,  farewell :  I  am  in  great  haste  now. [Exit. 

Quick.  Farewell  to  your  worship. — Truly,  an  honest 
gentleman  :  but  Anne  loves  him  not,  for  I  know  Anne's 
mind  as  well  as  another  does. — Out  upon  't !  what  have 
I  forgot  ?  [Exit. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  1.— Before  PAGE'S  House. 
Enter  Mistress  PAGE,  with  a  Letter. 
Mm.  Page.  What  !    have  I   'scaped  love-letters  in 
the  holy-day  time  of  my  beauty,  and  am  I  now  a  sub- 
ject for  them  ?     Let  me  see.  [Reads. 
"  Ask  me  no  reason  why  I  love  you  :  for  though  love 
use  reason  for  his  physician.2  he  admits  him  not  for  his 
counsellor.     You  are  not  young,  no  more  am  I :  go  to 
then,  there  's  sympathy.     You  are  merry,  so  am  I ;  ha ! 


«  we  :  in  f.  e.    * 
VOL.  i.  24 


150  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF   WINDSOR.        ACT  II. 

ha  !  then,  there 's  more  sympathy  :  you  love  sack,  and 
BO  do  I  ;  would  you  desire  better  sympathy  ?  Let  it 
suffice  thee,  mistress  Page,  (at  the  least,  if  the  love  of 
soldier  can  suffice)  that  I  love  thee.  I  will  not  say, 
pity  me.  't  is  not  a  soldier-like  phrase  ;  but  I  say,  love 
me.  By  me. 

Thine  own  true  knight, 

By  day  or  night, 

Or  any  kind  of  light, 

With  all  his  might, 

For  thee  to  fight.  JOHN  FALSTAFF." 

What  a  Herod  of  Jewry  is  this  ! — O  wicked,  wicked, 
world  ! — one  that  is  well  nigh  worn  to  pieces  with  age, 
to  show  himself  a  young  gallant !  What  an  unweighed 
behaviour  hath  this  Flemish  drunkard  picked  (with  the 
devil's  name)  out  of  my  conversation,  that  he  dares  in 
this  manner  assay  me  ?  Why,  he  hath  not  been  thrice 
in  my  company — What  should  I  say  to  him  ? — I  was 
then  frugal  of  my  mirth  : — heaven  forgive  me  ! — Why, 
I  '11  exhibit  a  bill  in  the  parliament  for  the  putting 
down  of  fat  men.  How  shall  I  be  revenged  on  him  ! 
for  revenged  I  will  be,  as  sure  as  his  guts  are  made  of 
puddings. 

Enter  Mistress  FORD. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Mistress  Page  !  trust  me,  I  was  going  to 
your  house. 

Mrs.  Page.  And,  trust  me,  I  was  coming  to  you. 
You  look  very  ill. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  I  '11  ne'er  believe  that :  I  have  to 
show  to  the  contrary. 

Mrs.  Page.  Faith,  but  you  do,  in  my  mind. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Well,  I  do  then  ;  yet,  I  say.  I  could  show 
you  to  the  contrary!  O.  mistress  Page  !  give  me  some 
counsel. 

Mrs.  Page.  What 's  the  matter,  woman  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  0  woman !  if  it  were  not  for  one  trifling 
respect.  I  could  come  to  such  honour. 

Mrs.  Page.  Hang  the  trifle,  woman:  take  the  honour. 
What  is  it  ? — dispense  with  trifles  ; — what  is  it  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  If  I  would  but  go  to  hell  for  an  eternal 
moment  or  so,  I  could  be  knighted. 

Mrs.  Page.'  What  ?— thou  liest.— Sir  Alice  Ford  !— 


8C.  I.  THE    MERRY   WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  151 

These  knights  will  hack1  ;  and  so,  thou  shouldst  not 
alter  the  article  of  thy  gentry. 

Mrs.  Ford.  We  burn  day-light  : — here,  read,  read  ; 

[giving  a  letter] — perceive  how  I  might  be  knighted. 
Mrs.  Page  reads] — I  shall  think  the  worse  of  fat 
men,  as  long  as  I  have  an  eye  to  make  difference  of 
men's  liking  :  and  yet  he  would  not  swear,  praised 
women's  modesty,  and  gave  such  orderly  and  well- 
behaved  reproof  to  all  uncomeliness,  that  I  would 
have  sworn  his  disposition  would  have  gone  to  the 
truth  of  his  words  ;  but  they  do  no  more  adhere  and 
keep  place  together,  than  the  hundredth  psalm  to  the 
tune  of  "Green  Sleeves'."  Wha.t  tempest,  I  trow, 
threw  this  whale,  with  so  many  tuns  of  oil  in  his  belly, 
ashore  at  Windsor  ?  How  shall  I  be  revenged  on  him  ? 
I  think,  the  best  way  were  to  entertain  him  with  hope, 
till  the  wicked  fire  of  lust  have  melted  him  in  his  own 
grease. — Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Letter  for  letter,  but  that  the  name  of 
Page  and  Ford  differs  ! — To  thy  great  comfort  in  this 
mystery  of  ill  opinions,  here 's  the  twin-brother  of  thy 
letter :  but  let  thine  inherit  first ;  for,  I  protest,  mine 
never  shall.  I  warrant,  he  hath  a  thousand  of  these 
letters,  writ  with  blank  space  for  different  names,  (sure 
more)  and  these  are  of  the  second  edition.  He  will 
print  them,  out  of  doubt ;  for  he  cares  not  what  he  puts 
into  the  press,  when  he  would  put  us  two  :  I  had 
rather  be  a  giantess,  and  lie  under  mount  Pclion. 
Well,  I  will  find  you  twenty  lascivious  turtles,  ere  one 
chaste  man. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  this  is  the  very  same ;  the  very 
hand,  the  very  words.  What  doth  he  think  of  us  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Nay,  I  know  not  :  it  makes  me  almost 
ready  to  wrangle  with  mine  own  honesty.  I  '11  entertain 
myself  like  one  that  I  am  not  acquainted  withal ;  for, 
sure,  unless  he  know  some  stain  in  me,  that  I  know  not 
tnyself,  he  would  never  have  boarded  me  in  this  fury. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Boarding  call  you  it?  I'll  be  sure  to 
keep  him  above  deck. 

Mrs.  Page.  So  will  I :  if  he  come  under  my  hatches, 
I  '11  never  to  sea  again.  Let 's  be  revenged  on  him  : 

1  Become  hackneyed  or  common — an  allusion  to  the  commonness 
with  which  James  I.  conferred  the  distinction.  *  A  very  popular  ai 
to  which  many  ballads  were  written. 


152  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.       ACT  II. 

let 's  appoint  him  a  meeting  :  give  him  a  show  of  com- 
fort  in  his  suit,  and  lead  him  on  with  a  fine-baited 
delay,  till  he  hath  pawned  his  horses  to  mine  Host  of 
the  Garter. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  I  will  consent  to  act  any  villany 
against  him,  that  may  not  sully  the  chariness  of  our 
honesty.  0,  that  my  husband  saw  this  letter !  it  would 
give  eternal  food  to  his  jealousy. 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  look,  where  he  comes  ;  and  my 
good  man  too  ;  he 's  as  far  from  jealousy,  as  I  am  from 
giving  him  cause  •  and  that,  I  hope,  is  an  unmeasurable 
distance. 

Mrs.  Ford.  You  are  the  happier  woman. 

Mrs.  Page.  Let 's  consult  together  against  this 
greasy  knight.  Come  hither.  [  They  retire. 

Enter  FORD,  PISTOL.  PAGE,  and  NYM. 

Ford.  Well,  I  hope,  it  be  not  so. 

Pist.  Hope  is  a  curtail  dog  in  some  affairs  ; 
Sir  John  affects  thy  wife. 

Ford.  Why.  sir,  my  wife  is  not  young. 

Pist .  He  woos  both  high  and  low,  both  rich  and  poor, 
Both  young  and  old,  one  with  another.     Ford, 
He  loves  the  gally-mawfry  :  Ford,  perpend. 

Ford.  Love  my  wife  ? 

Pist.  With  liver  burning  hot :  prevent,  or  go  thou, 
Like  sir  Actaeon  he,  with  Ring-wood  at  thy  heels. 
3  !  odious  is  the  name. 

Ford.  What  name,  sir  ? 

Pist.  The  horn,  I  say.     Farewell : 
Take  heed ;  have  open  eye,  for  thieves  do  foot  by  night : 
Take  heed,  ere  summer  comes,  or  cuckoo  birds  do  sing. — • 
Away,  sir  corporal  Nym. 

Nym.  Believe  it,  Page ;  he  speaks  sense.1    [Exit  PIST. 

Ford.  I  will  be  patient :  I  will  find  out  this. 

Nym.  And  this  is  true ;  [to  PAGE.]  I  like  not  the 
humour  of  lying.  He  hath  wronged  me  in  some 
humours :  I  should  have  borne  the  humoured  letter  tc 
her,  but  I  have  a  sword,  and  it  shall  bite  upon  my 
necessity.  He  loves  your  wife ;  there 's  the  short  and 
the  long.  My  name  is  corporal  Nym  :  I  speak,  and  I 
avouch  't  is  true : — my  name  is  Nym,  and  Falstaff 
loves  your  wife. — Adieu.  I  love  not  the  humour  of 
bread  and  cheese.  Adieu.  [Exit  NYM 

1  f.  e.  give  this  speech  to  PISTOL. 


8C.  1.          THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  153 

Page.  The  humour  of  it.  quoth  'a  !  here  's  a  fellow 
friizlits  English  out  of  his  wits. 

Ford.  I  will  seek  out  Falstaff. 

Page    I  never  heard  such  a  drawling-affecting  rogue. 

Ford.  If  I  do  find  it.  well. 

Page.  I  will  not  believe  such  a  Catalan,1  though  the 
pi  icst  o'  the  town  commended  him  for  a  true  man. 

Ford.  'T  was  a  good  sensible  fellow:  well. 

Pagi.  How  now.  Meg  ! 

Mrs.  Page.  Whither  go  you,  George  ? — Hark  you. 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  now,  sweet  Frank  !  why  art  thou 
melancholy  ? 

Ford.  I  melancholy  !  I  am  not  melancholy. — Get 
you  home,  go. 

Mrs.  Ford.  'Faith,  thou  hast  some  crotchets  in  thy 
head  now. — Will  you  go,  mistress  Page  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Have  with  you. — You  '11  come  to  dinner, 
George? — [Aside  to  Mrs.  FORD.]  Look,  who  conies 
yonder :  she  shall  be  our  messenger  to  this  paltry 
knight. 

Enter  Mrs.  QUICKLY. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Trust  me,  I  thought  on  her :  she  '11  fit  it. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  are  come  to  see  my  daughter  Anne  ? 

Quick.  Ay,  forsooth;  and,  I  pray,  how  does  good 
mistress  Anne? 

Mrs.  Page.  Go  in  with  us,  and  see :  we  have  an 
hour's  talk  with  you. 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  PAGE.  Mrs.  FORD,  and  Mrs.  QUICKLY. 

Page.  How  now,  master  Ford  ? 

Ford.  You  heard  what  this  knave  told  me,  did  you 
not  ? 

Page.  Yes  •  and  you  heard  what  the  other  told  me. 

Ford.  Do  you  think  there  is  truth  in  them  ? 

Page.  Hang  'em.  slaves ;  I  do  not  think  the  knight 
would  offer  it :  but  these  that  accuse  him,  in  his  intent 
towards  our  wives,  are  a  yoke  of  his  discarded  men; 
very  rogues,  now  they  be  out  of  service. 

Ford.  Were  they  his  men  ? 

Page.  Marry,  were  they. 

Ford.  I  like  it  never  the  better  for  that.— Does  Le 
he  at  the  Garter  ? 

Page.  Ay.  marry,  does  he.  If  he  should  intend  this 
voyage  towards  my  wife,  I  would  turn  her  loose  tc 

i  Cataia.  Cathav.  or  China. 


154  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.       ACT  II. 

him  ;  and  what  he  gets  more  of  her  than  sharp  words, 
let  it  lie  on  my  head. 

Ford.  \  do  not  misdoubt  my  wife,  but  I  would  be 
loath  to  turn  them  together.  A  man  may  be  too  con- 
fident ;  I  would  have  nothing  lie  on  my  head.  I  cannot 
be  thus  satisfied. 

Page.  Look,  where  my  ranting  Host  of  the  Garter 
comes.  There  is  either  liquor  in  his  pate,  or  money 
in  his  purse,  when  he  looks  so  merrily. — How.  now, 
mine  host ! 

Enter  Host.1 

Host.  How  now,  bully-rook !  thou  'rt  a  gentleman. 
Cavaliero-justice,  I  say. 

Enter  SHALLOW. 

Shal.  I  follow,  mine  host,  I  follow. — Good  even,  and 
twenty,  good  master  Page.  Master  Page,  will  you  go 
with  us?  we  have  sport  in  hand. 

Host.  Tell  him,  cavaliero-justice ;  tell  him,  bully- 
rook. 

Shal.  Sir,  there  is  a  fray  to  be  fought  between  sir 
Hugh,  the  Welsh  priest,  and  Caius,  the  French  doctor. 

Ford.  Good  mine  Host  o'  the  Garter,  a  word  with  you. 

Host.  What  say'st  thou,  my  bully-rook? 

[They  go  aside. 

Shal.  Will  you  [to  PAGE]  go  with  us  to  behold  it  ? 
My  merry  host  hath  had  the  measuring  of  their  weapons, 
and,  I  think,  hath  appointed  them  contrary  places ;  for, 
believe  me,  I  hear,  the  parson  is  no  jester.  Hark,  I 
will  tell  you  what  our  sport  shall  be. 

Host.  Hast  thou  no  suit  against  my  knight,  my 
guest-cavalier? 

Ford.  None,  I  protest :  but  I  '11  give  you  a  pottle  of 
burnt  sack  to  give  me  recourse  to  him,  and  tell  him, 
my  name  is  Brook;  only  for  a  jest. 

Host.  My  hand,  bully :  thou  shalt  have  egress  and 
regress ;  said  I  well  ?  and  thy  name  shall  be  Brook. 
It  is  a  merry  knight. — Will  you  go  on  here  ?' 

Shal.  Have  with  you,  mine  host. 

Page.  I  have  heard,  the  Frenchman  hath  good  skill 
in  his  rapier. 

Shal.  Tut,  sir !  I  could  have  told  you  more :  in  these 
t'oies  you  stand  on  distance,  your  passes,  stoccadoes 

»  f  e  have     Enter  Host  and  SHALLOW,    a  An-heires  :  in  f.  e. 


80.  II.         THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  155 

and  I  know  not  what : 't  is  the  heart,  master  Page: 
't  is  here,  't  is  here.  I  have  seen  the  time,  with  my 
long  sword,  I  would  have  made  you  four  tall  fellows 
skip  like  rats. 

Host.  Here,  boys,  here,  here  !  shall  we  wag  ? 

Page.  Have  with  you. — I  had  rather  hear  them 
scold  ihan  see  them  fight. 

[Exeunt  Host,  SHALLOW,  and  PAGE. 

Ford.  Though  Page  be  a  secure  fool,  and  stands  so 
firmly  on  his  wife's  fidelity,  yet  I  cannot  put  off  my 
opinion  so  easily :  she  was  in  his  company  at  Page's 
house,  and  what  they  made  there,  I  know  not.  Well, 
I  will  look  farther  into  't ;  and  1  have  a  disguise  to 
sound  Falstaff.  If  I  find  her  honest,  I  lose  not  my 
labour  j  if  she  be  otherwise,  't  is  labour  well  bestowed 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.— A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  FALSTAFF  and  PISTOL. 

Fal.  I  will  not  lend  thee  a  penny. 

Pist.  Why,  then  the  world  's  mine  oyster, 
Which  I  with  sword  will  open. — 

Fal.  Not  a  penny.  I  have  been  content,  sir,  you 
should  lay  my  countenance  to  pawn:  I  have  grated 
upon  my  good  friends  for  three  reprieves  for  you  and 
your  couch1 -fellow,  Nym;  or  else  you  had  looked 
through  the  grate,  like  a  gemini  of  baboons.  I  am 
damned  in  hell  for  swearing  to  gentlemen,  my  friends, 
you  were  good  soldiers,  and  tall  fellows :  and  when 
mistress  Bridget  lost  the  handle  of  her  fan,  I  took  't 
upon  mine  honour  thou  hadst  it  not. 

Pist.  Didst  thou  not  share  ?  hadst  thou  not  fifteen 
pence  ? 

Fal.  Reason,  you  rogue,  reason :  think'st  thou,  I  '11 
endanger  my  soul  gratis?  At  a  word,  hang  no  more 
about  me.  I  am  no  gibbet  for  you : — go. — A  short  knife 
and  a  throng : — to  your  manor  of  Pickt-hatch,2  go. — 
You  '11  not  bear  a  letter  for  me,  you  rogue  ! — you  stand 
upon  your  honour  ! — Why,  thouunconfinable  baseness, 
it  is  as  much  as  I  can  do,  to  keep  the  terms  of  my 
honour  precise.  I,  I,  I  myself  sometimes,  leaving  the 
fear  of  heaven  on  the  left  hand,  and  hiding  mine  honour 
in  my  necessity,  am  fain  to  shuffle,  to  hedge,  and  tc 

i  ooach.    2  A  London  locality  of  had  fame 


150  THE    MERKV    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR,       ACT  II. 

lurch ;  and  yet  you,  you  rogue,  will  ensconce  your  rags, 
your  cat-a-raountain  looks,  your  red-lattice1  phrases, 
and  your  bold-beating"  oaths,  under  the  shelter  of  youi 
honour  !  You  will  not  do  it,  you? 

Pist.  I  do  relent :  what  wouldst  thou  more  of  man? 
Enter  ROBIN. 

Rob.  Sir.  here  ;s  a  woman  would  speak  with  you. 

Fa1.  Let  her  approach. 

Enter  Mistress  QUICKLY. 

Quick.  Give  your  worship  good-morrow. 

Fal.  Good-morrow,  good  wife. 

Quick.  Not  so,  an  ?t  please  your  worship. 

Fal.  Good  maid,  then. 

Quick.  I  ;11  be  sworn  ;  as  my  mother  was,  the  first 
hour  I  was  born. 

Fal.  I  do  believe  the  swearer.     What  with  me  ? 

Quick.  Shall  I  vouchsafe  your  worship  a  word  or  two  ? 

Fal.  Two  thousand,  fair  woman ;  and  I  '11  vouchsafe' 
thee  the  hearing. 

Quick.  There  is  one  mistress  Ford,  sir : — I  pray, 
come  a  little  nearer  this  ways. — I  myself  dwell  with 
master  doctor  Caius. 

Fal.  Well,  on:  Mistress  Ford,  you  say, — 

Quick.  Your  worship  says  very  true  :  —  I  pray  your 
worship,  come  a  little  nearer  this  ways. 

Fal.  I  warrant  thee,  nobody  hears: — mine  own 
people,  mine  own  people. 

Quick.  Are  they  so  ?  Hea.ven  bless  them,  and  make 
them  his  servants ! 

Fal.  Well:  Mistress  Ford ; — what  of  her? 

Quick.  Why  sir,  she  ;s  a  good  creature.  Lord,  lord ! 
your  worship  's  a  wanton :  well,  heaven  forgive  you. 
and  all  of  us,  I  pray  ! 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford  ; — come,  mistress  Ford, — 

Quick.  Marry,  this  is  the  short  and  the  long  of  it. 
You  have  brought  her  into  such  a  canaries,  as  't  is  won- 
derful :  the  best  courtier  of  them  all,  when  the  court 
lay  at  Windsor,  could  never  have  brought  her  to  such 
a  canary  ;  yet  there  has  been  knights,  and  lords,  and 
gentlemen,  with  their  coaches ;  I  warrant  you,  coach 
after  coach,  letter  after  letter,  gift  after  gift:  smelling 
BO  sweetly,  all  musk,  and  so  rushling,  I  warrant  you, 
in  silk  and  gold ;  and  in  such  alligant  terms ;  and  in 
:  Ale-house.  *  Mr.  Dyce  suggests  tear-baiting. 


60.  II.         THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  157 

such  wine  and  sugar  of  the  best,  and  the  fairest,  thai 
would  have  won  any  woman's  heart,  and,  I  warrant  you, 
they  could  never  get  an  eye-wink  of  her — T  had  myself 
twenly  angels  given  me  of  a  morning1 ;  tut  I  defy  all 
angels,  (in  any  such  sort,  as  they  say.)  but  in  the  way 
of  honesty: — and,  I  vrarrant  you.  they  could  never  get 
her  so  much  as  sip  on  a  cup  with  the  proudest  of  them 
all :  and  yet  there  has  been  earls,  nay,  which  is  more, 
pensioners* ;  but,  I  warrant  you,  all  is  one  with  her. 

Fal.  But  what  says  she  to  me  ?  be  brief,  my  good 
she  Mercury. 

Quick.  Marry,  she  hath  received  your  letter,  for  the 
which  she  thanks  you  a  thousand  times :  and  she  gives 
you  to  notify,  that  her  husband  will  be  absence  from 
his  house  between  ten  and  eleven. 

Fal.  Ten  and  eleven  ? 

Quick.  Ay,  forsooth;  and  then  you  may  come  and 
see  the  picture,  she  says,  what  you  wot  of:  master 
Ford,  her  husband,  will  be  from  home.  Alas !  the 
sweet  woman  leads  an  ill  life  with  him  :  he  's  a  very 
jealousy  man ;  she  leads  a  very  frampold3  life  with 
him,  good  heart. 

Fal.  Ten  and  eleven. — Woman,  commend  me  to  her ; 
I  will  not  fail  her. 

Quick.  Why,  you  say  well.  But  I  have  another 
messenger  to  your  worship :  mistress  Page  hath  her 
hearty  commendations  to  you  too ; — and  let  me  tell 
you  in  your  ear,  she  's  as  fartuous  a  civil  modest  wife, 
1  and  one  (I  tell  you)  that  will  not  miss  you  morning  nor 
evening  prayer,  as  any  is  in  Windsor,  wrhoe:er  be  the 
other :  and  she  bade  me  tell  your  worship,  that  hei 
husband  is  seldom  from  home,  but  she  hopes  there 
will  come  a  time.  I  never  knew  a  woman  so  dote 
upon  a  man :  surely,  I  think  you  have  charms,  la ;  yes, 
in  truth. 

Fal.  Not  T,  I  assure  thee :  setting  the  attraction  of 
my  good  parts  aside,  I  have  no  other  charms. 

QHK&  Blessing  on  your  heart  for  ;t ! 

Fal.  But  I  pray  thee,  tell  me  this :  has  Ford's  wife, 
and  Page's  wife,  acquainted  each  other  how  they  love  mer 

Quick.  That  were  a  jest,  indeed  ! — they  have  not  so 

1  given  me  this  morning  :  in  f.  e.  z  Elizabeth's  band  of  pensioner! 
irore  a  splendid  uniform,  and  so  perhaps  excited  Dame  Quickly'i 
admiration.  They  were  also  men  of  fortune.  3  Veaatious 


158  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.       ACT  Ii 

little  grace,  I  hope : — that  were  a  trick,  indeed  !  But 
mistress  Page  would  desire  you  to  send  her  your  little 
page,  of  all  loves  :'•  her  husband  has  a  marvellous  in- 
fection to  the  little  page  ;  and,  truly,  master  Page  is  an 
honest  man.  Never  a  wife  in  Windsor  leads  a  better 
life  than  she  does :  do  what  she  will,  say  what  she  will, 
take  all,  pay  all,  go  to  bed  when  she  list,  rise  when 
she  list,  all  is  as  she  will ;  and  truly,  she  deserves  it, 
for  if  there  be  a  kind  woman  in  Windsor,  she  is  one. 
You  must  send  her  your  page ;  no  remedy. 

Fal.  Why,  I  will. 

Quick.  Nay,  but  do  so,  then :  and,  look  you,  he  may 
come  and  go  between  you  both ;  and,  in  any  case,  have 
a  nayword,"  that  you  may  know  one  another's  mind, 
and  the  boy  never  need  to  understand  any  thing :  for 
?t  is  not  good  that  children  should  know  any  wicked- 
ness ;  old  folks,  you  know,  have  discretion,  as  they  say, 
and  know  the  world. 

Fal.  Fare  thee  well:  commend  me  to  them  both. 
There's  my  purse:  I  am  yet  thy  debtor. — Boy,  go 
along  with  this  woman. — This  news  distracts  me. 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  QUICKLY  and  ROBIN. 

Pist.  This  punk  is  one  of  Cupid's  carriers. — 
Clap  on  more  sails;  pursue,  up  with  your  fights.3 
Give  fire !    She  is  my  prize,  or  ocean  whelm  them  all ! 

[Exit  PISTOL. 

Fal.  Say'st  thou  so,  old  Jack?  go  thy  ways:  I'll 
make  more  of  thy  old  body  than  1  have  done.  Will 
they  yet  look  after  thee  ?  Wilt  thou,  after  the  expense 
of  so  much  money,  be  now  a  gainer  ?  Good  body,  I 
thank  thee  :  let  them  say,  't  is  grossly  done ;  so  it  be 
fairly  done,  no  matter. 

Enter  BARDOLPH. 

Bard.  Sir  John,  there  's  one  master  Brook  below 
would  fain  speak  with  you,  and  be  acquainted  with 
you;  and  hath  sent  your  worship  a  morning's  draught 
of  sack.* 

Fal.  Brook,  is  his  name  ? 

Bard.  Ay,  sir. 

Fal.  Call  him  in ;  [Exit  BARDOLPH.]  Such  Brooki 
are  welcome  to  me,  that  o'erflow  such  liquor.  Ah ! 

1  By  all  means.  »  Watthword.  3  Coverts  of  some  kind  put  up  to 
protect  the  men  in  an  engagement.  *  It  was  a  common  custom  to 
bestow  presents  of  wine  in  Shakespeare's  day. 


SO.    II.         TH&  MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  159 

ha  !  mistress  Ford  and  mistress  Page,  have  I  encom- 
passed you  ?  go  to ;  via ! 

Re-enter  BARDOLPH,  with  FORD  disguised. 

Ford.  Bless  you.  sir. 

Fa?.  And  you.  sir :  would  you  speak  with  me  ? 

Ford.  I  make  bold,  to  press  with  so  little  preparation 
upon  you. 

Fal.  You  're  welcome.  What 's  your  will  ? — Give 
us  leave,  drawer.  [Exit  BARDOLPH. 

Ford.  Sir,  I  am  a  gentleman  that  have  spent  much  • 
my  name  is  Brook. 

Fal.  Good  master  Brook,  I  desire  more  acquaintance 
of  you. 

Ford.  Good  sir  John.  I  sue  for  yours :  not  to  charge 
you,  for  I  must  let  you  understand,  I  think  myself  in 
better  plight  for  a  lender  than  you  are;  the  which 
hath  something  embolden:d  me  to  this  unseasoned 
intrusion,  for,  they  say,  if  money  go  before,  all  ways 
do  lie  open. 

Fal.  Money  is  a  good  soldier,  sir.  and  will  on. 

Ford.  Troth,  and  I  have  a  bag  of  money  here  trou 
bles  me :  if  you  will  help  to  bear  it,  sir  John,  take 
half,  or  all,1  for  easing  me  of  the  carriage. 

Fal.  Sir,  I  know  not  how  I  may  deserve  to  be  your 
porter. 

Ford.  I  will  tell  you,  sir,  if  you  will  give  me  the 
hearing. 

Fal.  Speak,  good  master  Brook :  I  shall  be  glad  to 
be  your  servant. 

Ford.  Sir.  I  hear  you  are  a  scholar, — I  will  be  brief 
with  you, — and  you  have  been  a  man  long  known  to 
me.  though  I  had  never  so  good  means,  as  desire,  to 
make  myself  acquainted  with  you.  I  shall  discover  a 
thing  to  you,  wherein  I  must  very  much  lay  open  mine 
own  imperfection ;  but.  good  sir  John,  as  you  have  one 
eye  upon  my  follies,  as  you  hear  them  unfolded,  turn 
another  into  the  register  of  your  own,  that  I  may  pass 
with  a  reproof  the  easier,  sith  you  yourself  know,  how 
easy  it  is  to  be  such  an  offender. 

Fal.  Very  well,  sir;  proceed. 

Ford.  There  is  a  gentlewoman  in  this  town,  hei 
nusband's  name  is  Ford. 

Fal.  Well,  sir. 

»  take  all,  or  half:  in  f.  e. 


100  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.       ACT  tt 

Ford.  I  have  long  loved  her,  and,  I  protcs-t  to  you, 
bestowed  much  on  her;  followed  her  with  a  doting 
observance  :  engrossed  opportunities  to  meet  her ;  fee'd 
every  slight  occasion,  that  could  but  niggardly  give  me 
sight  of  her :  not  only  bought  many  presents  to  give 
her,  but  have  given  lamely  to  many,  to  know  what  she 
would  have  given.  Briefly,  1  have  pursued  her,  as 
love  hath  pursued  me.  which  hath  been  on  the  wing 
of  all  occasions :  but  whatsoever  I  have  merited,  either 
ii  my  mind,  or  in  my  means,  meed,  I  am  sure,  I  have 
received  none,  unless  experience  be  a  jewel ;  that  I 
have  purchased  at  an  infinite  rate,  and  that  hath 
taught  me  to  say  this  : 

Love  like  a  shadow  flies,  when  substance  love  pursues ; 
Pursuing  tliat  that  flies,  and  flying  what  pursues. 

Fal.  Have  you  received  no  promise  of  satisfaction  at 
her  hands  ? 

Ford.  Never, 

Fal.  Have  you  importuned  her  to  such  a  purpose? 

Ford.  Never. 

Fal.  Of  what  quality  was  your  love  then  ? 

Ford.  Like  a  fair  house,  built  upon  another  man's 
ground ;  so  that  I  have  lost  my  edifice,  by  mistaking 
the  place  where  I  erected  it. 

Fal.  To  what  purpose  have  you  unfolded  this  to  me? 

Ford.  When  I  have  told  you  that,  I  have  told  you 
all.  Some  say,  that  though  she  appear  honest  to  me, 
yet  in  other  places  she  enlargeth  her  mirth  so  far,  that 
there  is  shrewd  construction  made  of  her.  Now,  sir 
John,  here  is  the  heart  of  my  purpose :  you  are  a  gen- 
tleman of  excellent  breeding,  admirable  discourse,  of 
great  admittance,  authentic  in  your  place  and  person, 
generally  allowed  for  your  many  war-like,  court-like, 
and  learned  preparations. 

Fal.  0,  sir  ! 

Ford.  Believe  it,  for  you  know  it. — There  is  money: 
spend  it,  spend  it :  spend  more ;  spend  all  I  have,  only 
give  me  so  much  of  your  time  in  exchange  of  it,  as  to 
lay  an  amiable  siege  to  the  honesty  of  this  Ford's  wife : 
use  your  art  of  wooing,  win  her  to  consent  to  you ;  if 
any  mi*i  may,  you  may  as  soon  as  any. 

Fal.  Would  it  apply  well  to  the  vehemency  of  your 
affection,  that  I  should  win  what  you  would  enjoy? 
Mcthinks,  you  prescribe  to  yourself  very  preposterously 


PC.  II.          THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  101 

For/.  0!  understand  my  drift.  She  dwells  so  se- 
curely on  the  excellency  of  her  honour,  that  the  foil} 
of  my  .suit1  dares  not  present  itself:  she  is  too  bright 
to  be  looked  against.  Now,  could  I  come  to  her  with 
any  detection  in  my  hand,  my  desires  had  instance  and 
argument  to  commend  themselves ;  I  could  drive  her. 
then,  from  the  ward  of  her  purity,  her  reputation,  her 
marriage  vow,  and  a  thousand  other  her  defences,  wliich 
now  are  too  too  strongly  embattled  against  me.  What 
say  you  to 't.  sir  John  ? 

'Fid.  Master  Brook,  I  will  first  make  bold  with  your 
money ;  next,  give  me  your  hand ;  and  last,  as  I  am  a 
gentleman,  you  shall,  if  you  will,  enjoy  Ford's  wife. 

Ford.  0  good  sir  ! 

Fal.  I  say  you  .shall. 

Ford.  Want  no  money,  sir  John;  you  shall  want 
none. 

Fal.  Want  no  mistress  Ford,  master  Brook :  you  shall 
want  none.  I  shall  be  with  her  (I  may  tell  you)  by  her 
own  appointment :  even  as  you  came  in  to  me,  her 
assistant,  or  go-between,  parted  from  me :  I  say,  I  shall 
be  with  her  between  ten  and  eleven ;  for  at  that  time 
the  jealous  rascally  knave,  her  husband,  will  be  forth. 
Come  you  to  me  at  night :  you  shall  know  how  I  speed. 

Ford.  I  am  blest  in  your  acquaintance.  Do  you 
know  Ford,  sir  ? 

Fal.  Hang  him,  poor  cuckoldly  knave  !  I  know  him 
not. — Yet  I  wrong  him  to  call  him  poor :  they  say, 
the  jealous  wittolly  knave  hath  masses  of  money,  for 
the  which  his  wife  seems  to  me  well-favoured.  I  will 
use  her  as  the  key  of  the  cuckoldly  rogue's  coffer,  and 
there  's  my  harvest-home. 

Ford.  I  would  you  knew  Ford,  sir,  that  you  might 
avoid  him.  if  you  saw  him. 

Fal.  Hang  him.  mechanical  salt-butter  rogue  !  I  will 
stare  him  out  of  his  wits ;  I  will  awe  him  with  my 
r udgel :  it  shall  hang  like  a  meteor  o'er  the  cuckold's 
horns :  master  Brook,  thou  shalt  know  I  will  predomi- 
nate over  the  peasant,  and  thou  shalt  lie  with  his  wife. 
— Come  to  me  soon  at  night. — Ford  's  a  knave,  and  I 
will  aggravate  his  style ;  thou,  master  Brook,  shalt  know 
him  for  a  knave  and  cuckold. — Come  to  me  soon  at 
night.  •  [Exit. 

1  soul    inf.  e. 


162  THE    MERRY    WIVE8    OF   WINDSOR.       ACT  U 

Ford.  What  a  damned  Epicurean  rascal  is  this  !— 
My  heart  is  ready  to  crack  with  impatience. — Who 
says,  this  is  improvident  jealousy  ?  my  wife  hath  sent 
to  him,  the  hour  is  fixed,  the  match  is  made.  Would 
any  man  have  thought  this  ? — See  the  hell  of  having  a 
false  woman  !  my  bed  shall  be  abiised,  my  coffers  ran- 
sacked, my  reputation  gnawn  at ;  and  I  shall  not  only 
receive  this  villainous  wrong,  but  stand  under  the  adop- 
tion of  abominable  terms,  and  by  him  that  does  me  this 
wrong.  Terms  !  names  ! — Amaimon  sounds  well ; 
Lucifer,  well;  Barbason,  well;  yet  they  are  devils' 
additions,  the  names  of  fiends :  but  cuckold  !  wittol 
cuckold  !l  the  devil  himself  hath  not  such  a  name. 
Page  is  an  ass,  a  secure  ass ;  he  will  trust  his  wife,  he 
will  not  be  jealous  :  I  will  rather  trust  a  Fleming  with 
my  butter,  parson  Hugh  the  Welshman  with  my  cheese, 
an  Irishman  with  my  aqua  vitse  bottle,  or  a  thief  to  walk 
my  ambling  gelding,  than  my  wife  with  herself:  then 
she  plots,  then  she  ruminates,  then  she  devises ;  and 
what  they  think  in  their  hearts  they  may  effect,  they 
will  break  their  hearts  but  they  will  effect.  Heaven 
be  praised  for  my  jealousy  ! — Eleven  o'clock  the  hour : 
I  will  prevent  this,  detect  my  wife,  be  revenged  on 
Falstaff,  and  laugh  at  Page.  I  will  about  it  better 
three  hours  too  soon,  than  a  minute  too  late.  Fie.  fie, 
fie  !  cuckold  !  cuckold  !  cuckold  !  [Exit. 

SCENE  III.— Windsor  Park. 
Enter  CAIUS  and  RUGBY. 

Cams.  Jack  Rugby ! 

Rug.  Sir. 

Cams.  Vat  is  de  clock,  Jack  ? 

Rug.  'T  is  past  the  hour,  sir,  that  sir  Hugh  promised 
to  meet. 

Cants  By  gar,  he  has  save  his  soul,  dat  he  is  no  come : 
lie  has  pray  his  Pible  veil,  dat  he  is 'no  come.  By  gar, 
Jack  Rugby,  he  is  dead  already,  if  he  be  come. 

Rug.  He  is  wise,  sir ;  he  knew  your  worship  would 
kill  him,  if  he  came. 

Cams.  By  gar.  de  herring  is  no  dead,  so  as  I  vill  kill 
h.m.  Take  your  rapier,  Jack :  I  vill  tell  you  how  I 
nil  kill  him. 

Rug.  Alas,  sir !  I  cannot  fence.    [Runs  back  afraid. 
1  Knowing  himself  one.     »  This  direction  is  not  in  f.  e. 


EC.  III.       THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  1 63 

Cants.  Villainy,  take  your  rapier. 

Rug.  Forbear  :  here  ;s  company. 

Enter  Host.  SHALLOW.  SLENDER,  and  PAGE. 

Host.  Bless  thee.  bully  doctor. 

Sfuil.  Save  you.  master  doctor  Caius. 

P'Tge.  Now.  good  master  doctor. 

Slcn.  Give  you  good-morrow,  sir. 

Caius.  Vat  be  all  you.  one,  two.  tree,  four,  come  for  ? 

Host.  To  see  thee  fight;  to  see  thee  foin,  to  see  thee 
traverse,  to  see  thee  here,  to  see  thee  there  :  to  see 
thee  pass  thy  punto.  thy  stock,  thy  reverse,  thy  dis- 
tance, thy  moutant.  Is  he  dead,  my  Ethiopian?  is  ho 
dead,  my  Francisco?  ha.  bully !  What  says  my  JEscu- 
lapius  ?  my  Galen  ?  my  heart  of  elder  ?'  ha !  is  he  dead, 
bully-stale  ?  is  he  dead  ? 

Caius.  By  gar,  he  is  de  coward  Jack  priest  of  the 
vorld  ;  he  is  not  show  his  face. 

Host.  Thou  art  a  Castalian-king-Urinal  :3  Hector  of 
Greece,  my  boy. 

Caius.  I  pray  you.  bear  vitness  that  me  have  stay  six 
or  seven,  two.  tree  hours  for  him,  and  he  is  no  come. 

Shal.  He  is  the  wiser  man,  master  doctor :  he  is  a 
curer  of  souls,  and  you  a  eurer  of  bodies  ;  if  you  should 
fight,  you  go  against  the  hair  of  your  professions.  Is  it 
not  true,  master  Page  ? 

Page.  Master  Shallow,  you  have  yourself  been  a 
great  fighter,  though  now  a  man  of  peace. 

Shal.  Bodykins.  master  Page,  though  I  now  be  old, 
and  of  the  peace,  if  I  see  a  sword  out.  my  finger  itches 
to  make  one.  Though  we  are  justices,  and  doctors, 
and  churchmen,  master  Page,  we  have  some  salt  of  our 
youth  in  us:  we  are  the  sons  of  women,  master  Page. 

Page.  ;Tis  true,  master  Shallow. 

Shal.  It  will  be  found  so,  master  Page. — Master 
doctor  Caius.  I  am  come  to  fetch  you  home.  I  am 
sworn  of  the  peace:  you  have  showed  yourself  a  wise 
physician,  and  sir  Hugh  hath  fhown  himself  a  wise 
and  patient  churchman.  You  must  go  wi;h  me,  mas- 
ter doctor. 

Host.  Pardon,  guest-justice. — A  word,  Monsieut 
Mock-water. 

i  The  elder  has  a  soft  pith.  *  Knight  reads,  Castilian.  King. 
Urinal.  The  Spaniards  were,  of  course,  in  great  disfavour  with  th« 
English  when  this  play  was  written 


164  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.       ACT  II 

Ctiius.  Mock-vater  !  vat  is  dat? 

Host.  Mock-water,  in  our  English  tongue,  is  valour, 
bully. 

Caius.  By  gar,  then,  I  have  as  much  mock-vater  aa 
de  Englishman. — Scurvy  jack-dog  priest !  by  gar,  me 
vill  cut  his  ears. 

Host.  He  will  clapper-claw  thee  tightly,  bully. 

Coins    Clapper-de-claw!  vat  is  dat? 

Host.  That  is,  he  will  make  thee  amends. 

Cains.  By  gar,  me  do  look,  he  shall  clapper-de-claw 
me  :  for,  by  gar,  me  vill  have  it. 

Host.  And  I  will  provoke  him  to 't.  or  let  him  wag. 

Caius.  Me  tank  you  for  dat. 

Host.  And  moreover,  bully. — But  first,  master  guest, 
and  master  Page,  and  eke  cavaliero  Slender,  go  you 
through  the  town  to  Frogmore.  [Aside  to  them. 

Page.  Sir  Hugh  is  there,  is  he  ? 

Host.  He  is  there :  see  what  humour  he  is  in,  and  I 
will  bring  the  doctor  about  by  the  fields.  Will  it  do 
well? 

Shal.  We  will  do  it. 

Page.  Shal.  and  Stcn.  Adieu,  good  master  doctor. 

[Exeunt  PAGE,  SHALLOW,  and  SLENDER. 

Caius.  By  gar,  me  vill  kill  de  priest,  for  he  speak 
for  a  jack-an-ape  to  Anne  Page. 

Host.  Let  him  die.  Sheathe  thy  impatience ;  throw 
cold  water  on  thy  choler.  Go  about  the  fields  with  me 
through  Frogmore ;  I  will  bring  thee  where  mistress 
Anne  Page  is,  at  a  farm-house  a  feasting,  and  thou 
shall  woo  her.  Curds  and  cream,1  said  I  well  ? 

Caius.  By  gar,  me  tank  you  for  dat :  by  gar,  I  love 
you ;  and  I  shall  procure-a  you  de  good  guest,  de  earl, 
dc  knight,  de  lords,  dc  gentlemen,  my  patients. 

Host.  For  the  which  I  will  be  thy  adversary  toward 
\ane  Page :  said  I  well  ? 

Caius.  By  gar,  't  is  good ;  veil  said. 

Hr.\t.  Let  as  wag  then. 

Catiw.  Conic  at  my  heels,  Jack  Rugby. 

[Euunt 

*  cried  game  :  in  f.  e. 


RC.  I.  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF   WINDSOR.  165 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.— A  Field  near  Frogmore. 
Enter  Sir  HUGH  EVANS,  with  a  book,  and  SIMPLE. 
Eva.  I  pray  you  now,  good  master  Blender's  serving- 
man,  and  friend  Simple  by  your  name,  which  way  have 
you  looked  for  master  Caius,  that  calls  himself  Doctor 
of  Physic  ? 

Sim.  Marry,  sir,  the  pit-way,  the  park-way,1  old 
Windsor  way,  and  every  way,  but  the  town  way. 

Eva.  I  most  fehemently  desire  you,  you  will  also 
look  that  way. 

Sim.  I  will,  sir.  [Retiring. 

Eva.  Pless  my  soul,  how  full  of  cholers  I  am,  and 
trempling  of  mind  ! — I  shall  be  glad,  if  he  have  de- 
ceived me. — How  melancholies  I  am  ! — I  will  knog  his 
urinals  about  his  knave's  costard,  when  I  have  good 
opportunities  for  the  'ork : — pless  my  soul !         [Sings. 
To  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls :s 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals  ; 
There  will  we  make  our  peds  of  roses, 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies. 

To  shallow — 

Mercy  on  me !  I  have  a  great  dispositions  to  cry.  [Sings' 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals  / — 
When  as  I  sat  in  Pabylonf 
And  a  thousand  vagram  posies. 

To  shallow— 

Sim.  [Coming  forward.]  Yonder  he  is  coming,  this 
way,  sir  Hugh. 

Eva.  He's  welcome.  [Sings.* 

7b  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls — 
Heaven  prosper  the  right ! — What  weapons  is  he? 

Sim.  No  weapons,  sir.  There  comes  my  master, 
master  Shallow,  and  another  gentleman,  from  Frog- 
m  ~re.  over  the  stile,  this  way. 

Eva.  Pray  you,  give  me  my  gown ;  or  else  keep  it 
in  your  arms. 

Enter  PARE,  SHALLOW,  and  SLENDER. 
Shal.  How  now,  master  parson !    Good-morrow,  good 

1  the  petty-ward,  the  park-ward,  every  way  :  in  f.  e.    »  A  quota- 
tion from  Marlow's  "  Passionate  Pil^im."    3  Not  in  f.  e.    *  A  line 
from  the'old  version  of  Ps.  137.     »  Not  in  f.  e. 
VOL.   I.  25 


166  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.     ACT  III. 

sir  Hugh.     Keep  a  gamester  from  the  dice,  and  a  good 
student  from  his  book   and  it  is  wonderful. 

Slen.  Ah,  sweet  Anne  Page  ! 

Page    Save  you,  good  sir  Hugh. 

Eva.  Pless  you  from  his  mercy  sake,  all  of  you  ! 

Shal.  What !  the  sword  and  the  word  ?  do  you  study 
them  both,  master  parson  ? 

Page.  And  youthful  still,  in  your  doublet  and  hose, 
this  raw  rheumatic  day  ? 

Eva.  There  is  reasons  and  causes  for  it. 

Page.  We  are  come  to  you  to  do  a  good  office,  master 
parson. 

Eva.  Fery  well :  what  is  it  ? 

Page.  Yonder  is  a  most  reverend  gentleman,  who, 
belike  having  received  wrong  by  some  person,  is  at 
most  odds  with  his  own  gravity  and  patience  that  ever 
you  saw. 

Shal.  I  have  lived  fourscore  years,  and  upward.  I 
never  heard  a  man  of  his  place,  gravity,  and  learning, 
so  wide  of  his  own  respect. 

Eva.  What  is  he? 

Page.  I  think  you  know  him;  master  doctor  Caius, 
the  renowned  French  physician. 

Eva.  Got's  will,  and  his  passion  of  my  heart !  I  had 
as  lief  you  would  tell  me  of  a  mess  of  porridge. 

Page.  Why? 

Eva.  He  has  no  more  knowledge  in  Hibbocrates  and 
Galen, — and  he  is  a  knave  besides ;  a  cowardly  knave, 
as  you  would  desires  to  be  acquainted  withal. 

Page.  I  warrant  you,  he 's  the  man  should  fight  with 
him. 

Slen.  0,  sweet  Anne  Page  ! 

Shal.  It  appears  so,  by  his  weapons.— rKeep  them 
asunder  • — here  comes  doctor  Caius. 

Enter  Host.  CAIUS,  and  RUGBY. 

Page.  Nay,  good  master  parson,  keep  in  your  weapon. 

Shal.  So  do  you,  good  master  doctor. 

Host.  Disarm  them,  and  let  them  question :  let  them 
keep  their  limbs  whole,  and  hack  our  English. 

Caiiis.  I  pray  you,  let-a  me  speak  a  word  vit  your 
ear :  verefore  vill  you  not  meet-a  me  ? 

Eva.  Pray  you,  use  your  patience  :  in  good  time. 

Caius.  By  gar,  you  are  de  coward,  de  Jack  dog,  John 
ape. 


8C.  IT.         THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  167 

Eva.  Pray  you,  let  us  not  be  laughing-stogs  to  other 
men's  humours ;  I  desire  you  in  friendship,  and  I  will 
one  way  or  other  make  you  amends. — I  will  knog  your 
urinals  about  your  knave's  cogscomb  for  missing  your 
meetings  and  appointments. 

Caius.  Diable  ! — Jack  Rugby, — mine  Host  de  Jarre- 
tiere,  have  I  not  stay  for  him,  to  kill  him  ?  have  I  not, 
at  de  place  I  did  appoint? 

Eva.  As  I  am  a  Christian  soul,  now,  look  you,  this 
is  the  place  appointed.  I  '11  be  judgment  by  mine  Host 
of  the  Garter. 

Host.  Peace.  I  say  !  Gallia  and  Guallia,  French  and 
Welsh ;  soul-curer  and  body-curer. 

Caius.  Ay,  dat  is  very  good  :  excellent. 

Host.  Peace,  I  say  !  hear  mine  Host  of  the  Garter. 
Ami  politic  ?  am  I  subtle  ?  am  I  a  Machiavel  ?  Shall 
I  lose  my  doctor  ?  no  ;  he  gives  me  the  potions,  and 
the  motions.  Shall  I  lose  my  parson?  my  priest?  my 
sir  Hugh  ?  no ;  he  gives  me  the  proverbs  and  the  no- 
verbs. — Give  me  thy  hands,  celestial  and  terrestrial  ;l 
so. — Boys  of  art,  I  have  deceived  you  both;  I  have 
directed  you  to  wrong  places :  your  hearts  are  mighty, 
your  skins  are  whole,  and  let  burnt  sack  be  the  issue. 
— Come,  lay  their  swords  to  pawn. — Follow  me,  lad  of 
peace  ;  follow,  follow,  follow. 

Shal.  Trust  me,  a  mad  host. — Follow,  gentlemen, 
follow. 

Sim.  0,  sweet  Anne  Page  ! 

[Exeunt  SHALLOW,  SLENDER,  PAGE,  and  Host. 

Caius.  Ha !  do  I  perceive  dat !  have  you  make-a  de 
sot  of  us  ?  ha,  ha  ! 

Eva.  This  is  well,  he  has  made  us  his  vlouting-stog. 
— I  desire  you,  that  we  may  be  friends,  and  let  us  knog 
our  prains  together  to  be  revenge  on  this  same  scall", 
scurvy,  cogging  companion,  the  Host  of  the  Garter. 

Cams.  By  gar,  vit  all  my  heart.  He  promise  to  bring 
me  vere  is  Anne  Page :  by  gar,  he  deceive  me  too. 

Eva.  Well,  I  will  smite  his  noddles. — Pray  you, 
follow.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— A  Street  in  Windsor. 
Enter  Mistress  PAGE  and  ROBIN. 

Mrs.  Page.  Nay,  keep  your  way,  little  gallant :  yon 

-  The  folios  have  :  hands  celestial,  so.    Malone  altered  it  to  "  Give 
me   thy  hand  terrestrial,   so ;    give   me  thy  hand  celestial,  go  " 
Seald-kmd, 


108  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.     ACT  III. 

were  wont  to  be  a  follower,  but  now  you  are  a  leader. 
Whether  had  you  rather,  lead  mine  eyes,  or  eye  your 
master's  heels? 

Rob.  I  had  rather,  forsooth,  go  before  you  like  a 
man,  than  follow  him  like  a  dwarf. 

Mrs.  Page.  O  !  you  are  a  flattering  boy :  now,  I  see, 
you  '11  be  a  courtier. 

Enter  FORD. 

Ford.  Well  met,  mistress  Page.     Whither  go  you  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Truly,  sir,  to  see  your  wife :  is  she  at 
home? 

Ford.  Ay;  and  as  idle  as  she  may  hang  together, 
for  want  of  your  company.  I  think,  if  your  husbands 
were  dead,  you  two  would  marry. 

Mrs.  Page.  Be  sure  of  that, — two  other  husbands. 

Ford.  Where  had  you  this  pretty  weather-cock  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  I  cannot  tell  what  the  dickens  his  name 
is  my  husband  had  him  of. — What  do  you  call  your 
knight's  name,  sirrah  ? 

Rob.  Sir  John  Falstaff. 

Ford.  Sir  John  Falstaff! 

Mrs.  Page.  He,  he;  I  can  never  hit  on's  name — 
There  is  such  a  league  between  my  good  man  and  him  ! 
Is  your  wife  at  home  indeed  ? 

Ford.  Indeed,  she  is. 

Mrs.  Page.  By  your  leave,  sir :  I  am  sick,  till  I  see 
her.  [Exeunt  Mrs.  PAGE  and  ROBIN. 

Ford.  Hath  Page  any  brains  !  hath  he  any  eyes  ?  hath 
he  any  thinking  ?  Sure,  they  sleep ;  he  hath  no  use  of 
them.  Why,  this  boy  will  carry  a  letter  twenty  miles, 
as  easy  as  a  cannon  will  shoot  point-blank  twelve  score. 
He  pieces-out  his  wife's  inclination ;  he  gives  her  folly 
motion,  and  advantage :  and  now  she 's  going  to  my 
wife,  and  Falstaff 's  boy  with  her.  A  man  may  hear 
this  shower  sing  in  the  wind  : — and  Falstaff's  boy  with 
her  ! — Good  plots  ! — they  are  laid ;  and  our  revolted 
wives  share  damnation  together.  Well;  I  will  take 
him,  then  torture  my  wife,  pluck  the  borrowed  veil  of  " 
modesty  from  the  so-seeming  mistress  Page,  divulge 
Page  himself  for  a  secure  and  wilful  Action  :  and  to 
these  violent  proceedings  all  my  neighbours  shall  cry 
aim1.  [Clock  strikes  ten.*]  The  clock  gives  me  my  cue, 
and  my  assurance  bids  me  search ;  there3  I  shall  find 
•  Applaud— a  term  in  archery.  *  Not  in  f.  e.  3  where  :  in  f.  e. 


SO.  II.         THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINliSOR.  169 

Falstaff.  I  shall  be  rather  praised  for  this,  than 
mocked ;  for  it  is  as  positive  as  the  earth  is  firm,  that 
Falstaff  is  there  :  I  will  go. 

Enter  PAGE,  SHALLOW,  SLENDER,  Host,  Sir  HUGH 
EVANS,  CAIUS,  and  RUGBY. 

Page,  Shal  fyc.  Well  met,  master  Ford. 

Ford.  Trust  me,  a  good  knot.  I  have  good  cheer  at 
home,  and  I  pray  you  all  go  with  me. 

Shal.  I  must  excuse  myself,  master  Ford. 

Slen.  And  so  must  I,  sir :  we  have  appointed  to  dine 
•with  mistress  Anne,  and  I  would  not  break  with  her 
for  more  money  than  I  '11  speak  of. 

Shal.  We  have  lingered  about  a  match  between 
Anne  Pase  and  my  cousin  Slender,  and  this  day  we 
shall  have  our  answer. 

Slen.  I  hope,  I  have  your  good  will,  father  Page. 

Page.  You  have,  master  Slender;  I  stand  wholly  for 
you: — but  my  wife,  master  doctor,  is  for  you  al- 
together. 

Caius.  Ay,  by  gar ;  and  de  maid  is  love-a  me  :  my 
nursh-a  Quickly  tell  me  so  mush. 

Host.  What  say  you  to  young  master  Fenton?  he 
capers,  he  dances,  he  has  eyes  of  youth,  he  writes 
verses,  he  speaks  holyday,  he  smells  April  and  May: 
he  will  carry  ?t,  he  will  carry  't ;  't  is  in  his  buttons  ; 
he  will  carry  't. 

Page.  Not  by  my  consent,  I  promise  you.  The  gen- 
tleman is  of  no  having1 :  he  kept  company  with  the  wild 
Prince  and  Poms  ;  he  is  of  too  high  a  region ;  he  knows 
too  much.  No.  he  shall  not  knit  a  knot  in  his  fortunes 
with  the  finger  of  my  substance  :  if  he  take  her.  let  him 
take  her  simply :  the  wealth  I  have  waits  on  my  con- 
sent, and  my  consent  goes  not  that  way. 

Ford.  I  beseech  you,  heartily,  some  of  you  go  home 
with  me  to  dinner :  besides  your  cheer,  you  shall  have 
sport :  I  will  show  you  a  monster. — Master  doctor,  you 
shall  go : — so  shall  you,  master  Page  ; — and  you,  sir 
Hugh. 

Shal.  Well,  fare  you  well. — We  shall  have  the  freer 
wooing  at  master  Page's. 

[Exeunt  SHALLOW  and  SLENDER. 

Catus.  Go  home,  John  Rugby ;  I  come  anon. 

[Exit  RUGBY. 

1  Property. 


170  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.      ACT  III. 

Host.  Farewell,  my  hearts.  I  will  to  my  honest 
knight  Falstaff.  and  drink  canary  with  him.  [Exit  Host. 

Ford.  [Aside.]  I  think,  I  shall  drink  in  pipe-wine 
first  with  him;  I'll  make  him  dance.  Will  you  go, 
gentles  ? 

All.  Have  with  you,  to  see  this  monster.      [Exeunt 

SCENE  III. — A  Room  in  FORD'S  House. 
Enter  Mrs.  FORD  and  Mrs.  PAGE. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What,  John  !  what,  Robert ! 

Mrs.  Page.  Quickly,  quickly.     Is  the  buck-basket— 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  warrant. — What,  Robin,  I  say ! 
Enter  Servants  with  a  large  Basket. 

Mrs.  Page.  Come,  come,  come. 

Mrs.  Ford   Here,  set  it  down. 

Mrs.  Page.  Give  your  men  the  charge  :  we  must  be 
brief. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Marry,  as  I  told  you  before,  John,  and 
Robert,  be  ready  here  hard  by  in  the  brew-house ;  and 
when  I  suddenly  call  you,  come  forth,  and  (without  any 
pause,  or  staggering)  take  this  basket  on  your  shoulders : 
that  done,  trudge  with  it  in  all  haste,  and  carry  it 
among  the  whitsters1  in  Datchet  mead,  and  there  empty 
it  in  the  muddy  ditch  close  by  the  Thames  side. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  will  do  it? 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  have  told  them  over  and  over;  they 
lack  no  direction.  Be  gone,  and  come  when  you  are 
called.  [Exeunt  Servants. 

Mrs.  Page.  Here  cornes  little  Robin. 
Enter  ROBIN. 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  now,  my  eyas-musket9  ?  what  news 
with  you? 

Rob.  My  master,  sir  John,  is  come  in  at  your  back- 
door, mistress  Ford,  and  requests  your  company. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  little  Jack-a-lent3,  have  you  been 
true  to  us? 

Rob.  Ay,  I  '11  be  sworn :  my  master  knows  not  of 
your  being  here :  and  hath  threatened  to  put  me  into 
everlasting  liberty,  if  I  tell  you  of  it,  for  he  swears  he  '11 
turn  me  away. 

Mrs.  Page.  Thou  'rt   a  good  boy ;  this  secrecy  of 

1  Washerwomen.  *  An  eyas,  is  a  younp  hawk,  a  musket  from  the 
Italian  musohetto,  a  little  hawk.  »  A  jack,  or  puppet  thrown  at  as  a 


BC.  in.        THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  171 

thine  shall  be  a  tailor  to  thee,  and  shall  make  thee  a 
new  doublet  and  hose. — 1 11  go  hide  me. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Do  so. — Go  tell  thy  master,  I  am  alone. 
Mistress  Page,  remember  you  your  cue.  [Exit  ROBIN. 

Mrs.  Page.  1  warrant  thee  :  if  I  do  not  act  it,  hiss 
me.  [Exit  Mrs.  PAGE 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go  to,  then :  we  '11  use  this  unwholesome 
humidity,  this  gross  watery  pumpion ; — we  '11  tfach 
him  to  know  turtles  from  jays. 

Enter  FALSTAFF. 

Fal.  Have  I  caught  thee,  my  heavenly  jewel  ?'  Why, 
now  let  me  die,  for  I  have  lived  long  enough :  this  is 
the  period  of  my  ambition.  0  this  blessed  hour  ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  0.  sweet  sir  John  ! 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford,  I  cannot  cog,  I  cannot  prate, 
mistress  Ford.  Now  shall  I  sin  in  my  wish :  I  -would 
thy  husband  were  dead,  I  '11  speak  it  before  the  best 
lord,  I  would  make  thee  my  lady. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  your  lady,  sir  John?  alas,  I  should  be 
a  pitiful  lady. 

Fal.  Let  the  court  of  France  show  me  such  another. 
I  see  how  thine  eye  would  emulate  the  diamond  :  thou 
hast  the  right  arched  beauty  of  the  brow,  that  becomes 
the  ship-tire,  the  tire-valiant,  or  any  tire  of  Venetian 
admittance. 

Mrs  Ford.  A  plain  kerchief,  sir  John :  my  brows 
become  nothing  else  ;  nor  that  well  neither. 

Fal.  By  the  Lord,  thou  art  a  tyrant  to  say  so  :  thou 
wouldst  make  an  absolute  courtier :  and  the  firm  fixture 
of  thy  foot  would  give  an  excellent  motion  to  thy  gait 
in  a  semi-circled  farthingale.  I  see  what  thou  wert, 
it'  fortune  thy  foe  were  not,*  nature  thy  friend :  come, 
thou  canst  not  hide  it. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Believe  me,  there 's  no  such  thing  in 
me. 

Fal.  What  made  me  love  thee  ?  let,  that  persuade 
Ihee.  there's  something  extraordinary  in  thee.  Come; 
[  cannot  cog,  and  say  thou  art  this  and  that,  like  a 
many  of  these  lisping  haw-thorn  buds,  that  come  like 
women  in  men's  apparel,  and  srnell  like  Bucklersbury 
in  simple3-time :  I  cannot ;  but  I  love  thee,  none  but 
thee.  and  thou  deservest  it. 

1  A  line  trom  Si  Iney's  Astrophei  and  Stella.  2  jf  fo  -tune  were  not 
•ny  foe.  >  Herb. 


172  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.     ACT  III. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Do  not  betray  me,  sir.  I  fear,  you  love 
mistress  Page. 

Fal.  Thou  might'st  as  well  say,  I  love  to  walk  by 
the  Counter-gate,  which  is  as  hateful  to  me  as  the  reek 
of  a  lime-kiln. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Well,  heaven  kiiows  how  I  love  you  j 
and  you  shall  one  day  find  it. 

Fal.  Keep  in  that  mind ;  I  '11  deserve  it. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay.  I  must  tell  you,  so  you  do,  or  else 
I  could  not  be  in  that  mind. 

Rob.  [Within.]  Mistress  Ford  !  mistress  Ford  !  here's 
mistress  Page  at  the  door,  sweating,  and  blowing,  and 
looking  wildly,  and  would  needs  speak  with  you  pre- 
sently. 

Fal.  She  shall  not  see  me.  1  will  ensconce  me  be- 
hind  the  arras. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Pray  you,  do  so :  she  's  a  very  tattling 
woman. —  [FALSTAFF  hides  himself. 

Enter  Mistress  PAGE  and  ROBIN. 
What 's  the  matter?  how  now  ! 

Mrs.  Page.  0  mistress  Ford  !  what  have  you  done  ? 
You  're  shamed,  you  are  overthrown,  you  're  undone 
for  ever. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  's  the  matter,  good  mistress 
Page? 

Mrs.  Page.  0  well-a-day,  mistress  Ford  !  having  an 
honest  man  to  your  husband  to  give  him  such  cause  of 
suspicion ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  cause  of  suspicion  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  What  cause  of  suspicion? — Out  upon 
you  !  how  am  I  mistook  in  you  ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  alas  !  what's  the  matter? 

Mrs.  Page.  Your  husband  's  coming  hither,  woman, 
with  all  the  officers  in  Windsor,  to  search  for  a  gentle- 
man, that,  he  says,  is  here  now  in  the  house,  by  your 
consent,  to  take  an  ill  advantage  of  his  absence.  You 
are  undone. 

Mrs.  Ford,  'T  is  not  so,  I  hope. 

Mr.?.  Page.  Pray  heaven  it  be  not  so.  that  you  have 
such  a  man  here ;  but 't  is  most  certain  your  husband  'a 
comin;:.  with  half  Windsor  at  his  heels,  to  search  for 
euch  a  one  ;  I  come  before  to  tell  you  If  you  know 
yourself  clear,  why  I  am  glad  of  it ;  but  if  you  have  a 
friend  here,  convey,  convey  him  out.  Be  not  amazed; 


BC.  111.        THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  173 

call  all  your  senses  to  you :  defend  your  reputation,  or 
bid  farewell  to  your  good  life  for  ever. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  shall  I  do? — There  is  a  gentle- 
man, my  dear  friend  :  and  I  fear  not  mine  own  shame 
BO  much  as  his  peril  :  I  had  rather  than  a  thousand 
pound,  he  were  out  of  the  house. 

J//\s-.  Page.  For  shame  !  never  stand  "  you  had 
rather."  and  "you  had  rather:"  your  husband's  here 
at  hand  ;  bethink  you  of  some  conveyance  :  in  the  house 
you  cannot  hide  him. — 0,  how  have  you  deceived 
me  ! — Look,  here  is  a  basket :  if  he  be  of  any  reason- 
able stature,  he  may  creep  in  here;  and  throw  foul 
linen  upon  him,  as  if  it  were  going  to  bucking  :  or,  it 
is  whiting-time,  send  him  by  your  two  men  to  Datchet 
mead. 

Mrs.  Ford.  He  's  too  big  to  go  in  there.  What  shall 
I  do? 

Re-enter  FALSTAFF. 

Fal.  Let  me  see  't,  let  me  see 't !  0.  let  me  see 't ! 
I  '11  in,  I  '11  in. — Follow  your  friend's  counsel. — 
I  '11  in. 

Mrs.  Page.  What !  sir  John  Falstaff  ?  Are  these 
your  letters,  knisrht  ? 

Fal.  I  love  thee :  help  me  away ;  let  me  creep  ir 
here ;  I  '11  never — 

[He  gets  into  the  basket,  and  falls  over :' 
they  cover  him  with  foul  linen. 

Mrs.  Page.  Help  to  cover  your  master,  boy.  Call 
your  men.  mistress  Ford. — You  dissembling  knight ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  What.  John  !  Robert !  John  !  [Exit. 
ROBIN.  Re-enter  Servants.]  Go,  take  up  these  clothes 
here,  quickly ;  where  's  the  cowl-staff?3  look,  how  you 
d rumble3 :  carry  them  to  the  laundress  in  Datchet 
mead ;  quickly,  come. 

Enter  FORD.  PAGE,  CAICS,  and  Sir  HUGH  EVANS. 

Ford.  Pray  you,  come  near :  if  I  suspect  without 
cause,  why  then  make  sport  at  me,  then  let  me  be  your 
jest;  I  deserve  it. — How  now!  whither  bear  you  this? 

Serv.  To  the  laundress,  forsooth. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  what  have  you  to  do  whither  they 
hear  it?  you  were  best  meddle  with  buck- washing. 

Ford.  Buck  !  I  would  I  could  wash  myself  of  the 

i  Not  in  f.  e.  »  A  stick  for  two  to  carry  a  basket  with  two  handle* 
ty.  3  Drone,  loiter. 


174  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.      ACT  111. 

buck  !  Buck,  buck,  buck  ?  Ay,  buck ;  I  warrant  you, 
buck,  and  of  the  season  too,  it  shall  appear.  [Eotxunt. 
Servants  with  the  basket.]  Gentlemen,  I  have  dreamed 
to-night :  I  '11  tell  you  my  dream.  Here,  here,  here  be 
my  keys :  ascend  my  chambers,  search,  seek,  find  out : 
I  '11  warrant,  we  '11  unkennel  the  fox. — Let  me  stop  this 
way  first : — so,  now  uncape. 

Pagz.  Good  master  Ford,  be  contented :  you  wrong 
yourself  too  much. 

Ford.  True,  master  Page.  —  Up,  gentlemen;  /ou 
shall  see  sport  anon :  follow  me,  gentlemen.  [Exit. 

Eva.  This  is  fery  fantastical  humours,  and  jealousies. 

Caius.  By  gar,  't  is  no  de  fashion  of  France :  it  is  not 
jealous  in  France. 

Page.  Nay,  follow  him,  gentlemen :  see  the  issue  of 
his  search.  [Exeunt  PAGE,  EVANS,  and  CAIUS. 

Mrs.  Page.  Is  there  not  a  double  excellency  in  this  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  know  not  which  pleases  me  better,  that 
my  husband  is  deceived,  or  sir  John. 

Mrs.  Page.  What  a  taking  was  he  in,  when  your 
husband  asked  who  was  in  the  basket ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  am  half  afraid  he  will  have  need  of 
washing ;  so,  throwing  him  into  the  water  will  do  him 
a  benefit. 

Mrs.  Page.  Hang  him,  dishonest  rascal !  I  would  all 
of  the  same  strain  were  in  the  same  distress. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  think,  my  husband  hath  some  special 
suspicion  of  Falstaff' s  being  here,  for  I  never  saw  him 
so  gross  in  his  jealousy  till  now. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  will  lay  a  plot  to  try  that ;  and  we  will 
yet  have  more  tricks  with  Falstaff:  his  dissolute  dis- 
ease will  scarce  obey  this  medicine. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Shall  we  send  that  foolish  carrion,  mis- 
tress Quickly,  to  him,  and  excuse  his  throwing  into  the 
water ;  and  give  him  another  hope,  to  betray  him  to 
another  punishment? 

Mrs.  Page.  We  '11  do  it:  let  him  be  sent  for  to-mor- 
row eight  o'clock,  to  have  amends. 

Re-enter  FORD,  PAGE,  CAIUS,  and  Sir  HUGH  EVANS. 

Ford.  I  cannot  find  him :  may  be,  the  kuave  bragged 
3f  that  he  could  not  compass. 

Mrs.  Page.  Heard  you  that? 

Mrs.  Ford.  You  use  me  well,  master  Ford,  do  you  ? 

Ford.  Ay,  I  do  so. 


SC.  IV.        THE    MERRY    WIVES    Of    WINDSOR.  175 

Mrs.  Ford.  Heaven  make  you  better  than  your 
thoughts ! 

Ford.  Amen.  [Ford. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  do  yourself  mighty  wrong,  master 

Ford.  Ay,  ay ;  I  must  bear  it. 

Eva.  If  there  be  any  pody  in  the  house,  and  in  the 
chambers,  and  in  the  coffers,  and  in  the  presses  heaven 
forgive  my  sins  at  the  day  of  judgment. 

Cams.  By  gar,  nor  I  too :  dere  is  no  bodies. 

Page.  Fie,  fie,  master  Ford  !  are  you  not  ashamed  ? 
What  spirit,  what  devil  suggests  this  imagination?  I 
would  not  have  your  distemper  in  this  kind  for  the 
wealth  of  Windsor  Castle. 

Ford.  'T  is  my  fault,  master  Page:  I  suffer  for  it. 

Eva.  You  suffer  for  a  pad  conscience :  your  wife  is 
as  honest  a  'omans  as  I  will  desires  among  five  thou- 
sand, and  five  hundred  too. 

Caius.  By  gar,  I  see  't  is  an  honest  woman. 

Ford.  Well ;  I  promised  you  a  dinner. — Come,  come, 
walk  in  the  park :  I  pray  you,  pardon  me-;  I  will  here- 
after make  known  to  you,  why  I  have  done  this. — 
Come,  wife ; — come,  mistress  Page :  I  pray  you  pardon 
me ;  pray  heartily,  pardon  me. 

Page.  Let 's  go  in,  gentlemen ;  but  trust  me,  we  '11 
mock  him.  I  do  invite  you  to-morrow  morning  to  my 
house  to  breakfast ;  after,  we  '11  a  birding  together  :  I 
have  a  fine  hawk  for  the  bush.  Shall  it  be  so  ? 

Ford. -Any  thing. 

Eva.  If  there  is  one,  I  shall  make  two  in  the  company. 

Caius.  If  there  be  one  or  two,  I  shall  make-a  de  turd. 

Ford.  Pray  you  go,  master  Page. 

Eva.  I  pray  you  now,  remembrance  to-morrow  on 
the  lousy  knave,  mine  Host. 

Caius.  Dat  is  good ;  by  gar,  vit  all  my  heart. 

Eva.  A  lousy  knave !  to  have  his  gibes,  and  hia 
mockeries.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— A  Room  in  PACK'S  House. 

Enter  FENTON  and  ANNE  PAGE. 
Fent.  I  see,  I  cannot  get  thy  father's  love ; 
Therefore,  no  more  turn  me  to  him,  sweet  Nan. 
Anne.  Alas  !  how  then  ? 

Fent.  Why,  thou  must  be  thyself. 

He  doth  object,  I  am  too  great  of  birth, 


17f>  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.     ACT  in. 

And  lhat  my  state  being  gall'd  with  my  expense, 

I  seek  to  heal  it  only  by  his  wealth. 

Beside  these,  other  bars  he  lays  before  me, — 

My  riots  past,  my  wild  societies ; 

And  tells  me  't  is  a  thing  impossible 

I  should  love  thee,  but  as  a  property. 

Anne.  May  be,  he  tells  you  true. 

Fent.  No,  heaven  so  speed  me  in  my  time  to  come  I 
Albeit,  I  will  confess,  thy  father's  wealth 
Was  the  first  motive  that  I  woo'd  thee,  Anne : 
Yet,  wooing  thee,  I  found  thee  of  more  value 
Than  stamps  in  gold,  or  sums  in  sealed  bags ; 
And  't  is  the  very  riches  of  thyself 
That  now  I  aim  at. 

Anne.  Gentle  master  Fenton, 

Yet  seek  my  father's  love ;  still  seek  it,  sir : 
If  opportunity  and  humblest  suit 
Cannot  attain  it,  why  then, — Hark  you  hither. 

[They  talk  apart. 
Enter  SHALLOW,  SLENDER,  and  Mrs.  QUICKLY. 

Shal.  Break  their  talk,  mistress  Quickly,  my  kins- 
man  shall  speak  for  himself. 

Slen.  I  '11  make  a  shaft  or  a  bolt  on 't.  'Slid,  't  is 
but  venturing. 

Sha,L  Be  not  dismay'd. 

Slen.  No,  she  shall  not  dismay  me :  I  care  not  for 
that, — but  that  I  am  afeard. 

Quick.  Hark  ye;  master  Slender  would  speak  a  word 
with  you. 

Anne.  I  come  to  him. — This  is  my  father's  choice. 
0,  what  a  world  of  vile  ill-favour7  d  faults 
Looks  handsome  in  three  hundred  pounds  a  year  ! 

Quick.  And  how  does  good  master  Fenton?  Pray 
you,  a  word  with  you. 

Shal.  She  's  coming ;  to  her,  coz.  O  boy !  thou  hadst 
a  father. 

Slen.  I  had  a  father,  mistress  Anne:  my  uncle  can 
tell  you  good  jests  of  him. — Pray  you,  uncle,  tell  mis- 
tress Anne  the  jest,  how  my  father  stole  two  geese  out 
of  a  pen.  good  uncle. 

Siial.  Mistress  Anne,  my  cousin  loves  you. 

Skn.  Ay,  that  I  do ;  as  well  as  I  love  any  woman 
in  Gloucestershire. 

Shal.  He  will  maintain  you  like  a  gentlewoman. 


6C.  IV.        THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  177 

Slen.  Ay,  that  I  will,  come  cut  and  long-tail,  undei 
the  degree  of  a  'squire. 

Shal.  He  will  make  you  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
jointure. 

Anne.  Good  master  Shallow,  let  him  woo  for 
himself. 

Shal.  Marry,  I  thank  you  for  it;  I  thank  you  for 
that  good  comfort.  She  calls  you,  coz :  I  '11  leave  you. 

[Stands  back.1 

Anne.  Now,  master  Slender. 

Slen.  Now.  good  mistress  Anne. 

Anne.  What  is  your  will  ? 

Slen.  My  will  ?  od's  heartlings  !  that 's  a  pretty  jest, 
indeed.  I  ne'er  made  my  will  yet,  I  thank  heaven;  I 
am  not  such  a  sickly  creature,  I  give  heaven  praise. 

Anne.  I  mean,  master  Slender,  what  would  you  with 
me? 

Slen.  Truly,  for  mine  own  part,  I  would  little  or 
nothing  with  you.  Your  father,  and  my  uncle,  have 
made  motions :  if  it  be  my  luck,  so ;  if  not,  happy 
man  be  his  dole.  They  can  tell  you  how  things  go, 
better  than  I  can :  you  may  ask  your  father;  here  he 
zomes. 

Enter  PAGE  and  Mistress  PAGE. 

Page.  Now,  master  Slender  ! — Love  him,  daughter 

Anne. — 

Why.  how  now !  what  does  master  Fenton  here? 
You  wrong  me,  sir,  thus  still  to  haunt  my  house : 
I  told  you,  sir,  my  daughter  is  dispos'd  of. 

Pent.  Nay,  master  Page,  be  not  impatient. 

Mrs.  Page.  Good  master  Fenton,  come  not  to  my 
child. 

Page.  She  is  no  match  for  you. 

Fen.  Sir,  will  you  hear  me? 

Page.  No,  good  master  Fenton  — 

Come,  master  Shallow: — come,  son  Slender;  in. — 
Knowing  my  mind,  you  wrong  me,  master  Fenton. 

[Exeunt  PAGE.  SHALLOW,  and  SLENDER. 

Quick.  Speak  to  mistress  Page. 

Pent.  Good   mistress   Page,    for   that  I   love  your 

daughter 

In  such  a  righteous  fashion  as  I  do, 
Perforce,  against  all  checks,  rebukes,  and  manners., 

i  Xot  in  f.  e. 


178  THE    MERRY   WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.      ACT  III, 

I  must  advance  the  colours  of  my  love, 
And  not  retire :  let  me  have  your  good  will. 

Anne.  Good  mother,  do  not  marry  me  to  yond'  fool. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  mean  it  not;  I  seek  you  a  better  hus- 
band. 

Quick.  That 's  my  master,  master  doctor. 

Anne.  Alas  !  I  had  rather  be  set  quick  i'  the  earth, 
And  bowl'd  to  death  with  turnips. 

Mrs.  Page.    Come,    trouble    not    yourself.      Good 

master  Fenton, 

I  will  not  be  your  friend,  nor  enemy: 
My  daughter  will  I  question  how  she  loves  you, 
And  as  I  find  her,  so  am  I  afFected. 
'Till  then,  farewell,  sir :  she  must  needs  go  in ; 
Her  father  will  be  angry.  [Exeunt  Mrs.  PAGE  and  ANNE. 

Pent.  Farewell,  gentle  mistress. — Farewell,  Nan. 

Quick.  This  is  my  doing,  now. — Nay,  said  I,  will 
you  cast  away  your  child  on  a  fool,  and  a  physician  ? 
look  on,  master  Fenton. — This  is  my  doing. 

Pent.  I  thank  thee ;  and  I  pray  thee,  once  to-night 
Give  my  sweet  Nan  this  ring.     There  's  for  thy  pains. 

[Exit. 

Quick.  Now,  heaven. send  thee  good  fortune!  A 
kind  heart  he  hath  :  a  woman  would  run  through  fire 
and  water  for  such  a  kind  heart.  But  yet  1  would  my 
master  had  mistress  Anne ;  or  I  would  master  Slender 
had  her  •  or.  in  sooth.  I  would  master  Fenton  had  her. 
I  will  do  what  I  can  for  them  all  three,  for  so  I  have 
promised,  and  I  '11  be  as  good  as  my  word  :  but  spe- 
ciously for  master  Fenton.  Well,  I  must  of  another 
errand  to  sir  John  Falstaff  from  my  two  mistresses : 
what  a  beast  am  I  to  slack  it.  [Exit. 

SCENE  V.— A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  FALSTAFF  and  BARDOLPH. 

Fal.  Bardolph.  I  say ! 

Bard.  Here,  sir. 

Fal.  Go  fetch  me  a  quart  of  sack ;  put  a  toast  in  't. 
[Exit  BARD.]  Have  I  lived  to  be  carried  in  a  basket, 
like  a  barrow  of  butcher's  offal,  and  to  be  thrown  in 
the  Thames  ?  Well,  if  I  be  served  such  another  trick, 
I  '11  have  my  brains 'ta' en  out.  and  buttered,  and  give 
them  to  a  dog  for  a  new  year's  gift.  The  rogues 
•lighted  me  into  the  river  with  as  little  remorse  as 


BC.  V.          THE    MERRY   WIVES    OF   WINDSOR.  179 

they  would  have  drowned  a  blind  bitch's  puppies,  fif- 
teen i'  the  litter ;  and  you  may  know  by  my  size,  that  I 
have  a  kind  of  alacrity  in  sinking  :  if  the  bottom  were 
as  deep  as  hell,  I  should  down.  I  had  been  drowned, 
but  that  the  shore  was  shelvy  and  shallow ;  a  death 
that  I  abhor,  for  the  water  swells  a  man,  and  what  a 
tiling  should  I  have  been,  when  I  had  been  swelled  ! 
I  should  have  been  a  mountain  of  mummy. 
Re-enter  BARDOLPH,  with  the  wine. 

Bard.  Here  's  mistress  Quickly,  sir,  to  speak  with  you. 

Fal.  Come,  let  me  pour  in  some  sack  to  the  Thames 
water ;  for  my  belly  ?s  as  cold,  as  if  I  had  swallowed 
snow-balls  for  pills  to  cool  the  reins.  Call  her  in. 

Bard.  Come  in.  woman. 

Enter  Mrs.  QUICKLY. 

Quick.  By  your  leave.— I  cry  you  mercy:  give  your 
worship  good-morrow. 

Fal.  Take  away  these  chalices.  Go,  brew  me  a 
pottle  of  sack  finely. 

Bard.  With  eggs,  sir  ? 

Fal.  Simple  of  itself;  I'll  no  pullet-sperm  in  my 
brewage. — [Exit  BARDOLPH.] — How  now? 

Quick.  Marry,  sir,  I  come  to  your  worship  from 
mistress  Ford. 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford  !  I  have  had  ford  enough  :  I  was 
thrown  into  the  ford  :  I  have  my  belly  full  of  ford. 

Quick.  Alas  the  day !  good  heart,  that  was  not  her 
fault :  she  does  so  take  on  with  her  men ;  they  mistook 
their  erection. 

Fal.  So  did  I  mine,  to  build  upon  a  foolish  -woman's 
promise. 

Quick.  Well,  she  laments,  sir,  for  it,  that  it  would 
yearn  your  heart  to  see  it.  Her  husband  goes  this 
mornins  a  birding :  she  desires  you  once  more  to  come 
to  her  between  eight  and  nine.  I  must  carry  her  word 
quickly :  she  '11  make  you  amends,  I  warrant  you. 

Fal  Well.  I  will  visit  her :  tell  her  so ;  and  bid  her 
think,  what  a  man  is :  let  her  consider  his  frailty,  and 
then  judge  of  my  merit. 

Quick.  I  Will  tell  her. 

Fal.  Do  so.     Between  nine  and  ten,  say'st  thou? 

Quick.  Eight  and  nine,  sir. 

Fal.  Well,  be  gone  :  I  will  not  miss  her. 

Quick.  Peace  be  with  you,  sir.  [Exit 


180  THE    MERUY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.      ACT  III. 

Fal.  I  marvel.  I  hear  not  of  master  Brook :  he  sent 
me  word  to  stay  within.  I  like  his  money  well.  0! 
here  he  jomes. 

Enter  FORD. 

Ford1.  Bless  you.  sir. 

Fal.  Now,  master  Brook ;  you  come  to  know  what 
hath  passed  between  me  and  Ford's  -wife  ? 

Ford.  That,  indeed,  sir  John,  is  my  business. 

Fal.  Master  Brook,  I  will  not  lie  to  you.  I  was  at 
her  house  the  hour  she  appointed  me. 

Ford.  And  sped  you,  sir? 

Fal.  Very  ill-favouredly,  master  Brook. 

Ford.  How  so,  sir  ?  Did  she  change  her  determination  ? 

Fal.  No,  master  Brook ;  but  the  peaking  cornuto  her 
husband,  master  Brook,  dwelling  in  a  continual  larum 
of  jealousy,  comes  me  in  the  instant  of  our  encounter, 
after  we  had  embraced,  kissed,  protested,  and,  as  it 
were,  spoke  the  prologue  of  our  comedy;  and  at  his 
heels  a  rabble  of  his  companions,  thither  provoked  and 
instigated  by  his  distemper,  and,  forsooth,  to  search  his 
house  for  his  wife's  love. 

Ford.  What !  while  you  were  there  ? 

Fa?.  While  I  was  there. 

Ford.  And  did  he  search  for  you,  and  could  not  find  you? 

Fal.  You  shall  hear.  As  good  luck  would  have  it, 
comes  in  one  mistress  Page ;  gives  intelligence  of  Ford's 
approach ;  and  by  her  invention,  and  Ford's  wife's  dis- 
traction, they  conveyed  me  into  a  buck-basket. 

Ford.  A  buck-basket ! 

Fal.  By  the  Lord,  a  buck-basket :  rammed  me  in  with 
foul  shirts  and  smocks,  socks,  foul  stockings,  and  greasy 
napkins;  that,  master  Bi'ook,  there  wns  the  rankest 
compound  of  villainous  smell,  that  ever  offended  nostril. 

Ford    And  how  long  lay  you  there  ? 

Fal.  Nay,  you  shall  hear,  master  Brook,  what  I  have 
Buffered,  to  bring  this  woman  to  evil  for  your  good. 
HIM  ML'  thus  crammed  in  the  basket,  a  couple  of  Ford's 
kn.-ivrs.  Ids  lands,  were  called  forth  by  their  mistress, 
to  carry  me  in  the  name  of  foul  clothes  to  Datchet- 
lane  :  they  took  me  on  their  shoulders;  met  the  jealous 
knave,  their  master,  in  the  door,  who  asked  them  once 
or  twice  what  they  had  in  their  basket.  I  quaked  for 
fear,  lest  the  lunatic  knave  would  have  searched  it; 
but  fate,  ordaining  he  should  be  a  cuckold,  held  hia 


J-C.    IV.        THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  181 

hand.  Well ;  on  went  he  for  a  search,  and  away  went 
I  tor  foul  clothes.  But  mark  the  sequel,  master  Brook: 
1  suffered  the  panus  of  three  several  deaths  :  first,  an 
intolerable  fright,  to  he  detected  with  a  jealous  rotten 
bell-wether:  next,  to  be  compassed,  like  a  good  bilbo, 
in  the  circumference  of  a  peck,  hilt  to  point,  heel  to 
head  and  then,  to  be  stopped  in,  like  a  strong  distil- 
lation, with  stinking  clothes  that,  fretted  in  their  own 
grease  :  think  of  that. — a  man  of  my  kidney, — think  of 
that :  that  am  as  subject  to  heat,  as  butter;  a  man  of 
continual  dissolution  and  thaw:  it  was  a  miracle,  to 
'scape  suffocation.  And  in  the  height  of  this  bath, 
when  I  was  more  than  half  stewed  in  grease,  like  a 
Dutch  dish,  to  be  thrown  into  the  Thames,  and  cooled, 
glowing  hot,  in  that  sunre,  like  a  horse  shoe;  think  of 
that, — hissing  hot, — think  of  that,  master  Brook. 

Ford.  In  good  sadness,  sir,  I  am  sorry  that  for  my 
sake  you  have  suffered  all  this.  My  suit,  then,  is  des- 
perate ;  you  '11  undertake  her  r;o  more  ? 

Fal.  Master  Brook.  I  will  be  thrown  into  ^Etna,  as  ] 
have  been  into  Thames,  ere  I  will  leave  her  thus.  Her 
husband  is  this  morning  gone  a  birding :  I  have  re- 
ceived from  her  another  embassy  of  meeting ;  'twixt 
eight  and  nine  is  the  hour,  master  Brook. 

Ford.  'T  is  past  eight  already,  sir. 

Fal.  Is  it  ?  I  will  then  address  me  to  my  appoint- 
ment. Come  to  me  at  your  convenient  leisure,  and 
you  shall  know  how  I  speed,  and  the  conclusion  shall 
be  crowned  with  your  enjoying  her :  adieu.  You  shall 
have  her.  master  Brook  ;  master  Brook,  you  shall 
cuckold  Ford.  [Exit. 

Ford.  Hum  :  ha  !  is  this  a  vision?  is  this  a  dream? 
do  I  sleep?  Master  Ford,  awake!  awake,  master 
Ford  !  there  's  a  hole  made  in  your  best  coat,  master 
Ford.  This  't  is  to  be  married :  this  't  is  to  have  linen, 
and  buck-baskets. — Well,  I  will  proclaim  myself  what 
I  a.m  :  I  will  now  take  the  lecher ;  he  is  at  my  house: 
he  cannot  ;scape  me ;  't  is  impossible  he  should  :  he 
cannot  creep  inlo  a  half-penny  purse,  nor  into  a  pepper- 
box ;  but.  lest  ihc  devil  that  guides  him  should  aid 
him,  I  will  search  impossible  places.  Though  \vhai  I 
am  I  cannot  avoid,  yet  to  be  what  1  would  not,  shall 
not.  make  me  tame:  if  I  have  horns  to  make  me  mad, 
let  the  proverb  go  with  me,  I  rll  be  horn  mad.  [Exit 

VOL.  i.  'J6 


182      THE  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.   ACT  IV. 

ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.— The  Street. 
Enter  Mrs.  PAGE,  Mrs.  QUICKLY,  and  WILLIAM. 

Mrs.  Page.  Is  he  at  master  Ford's  already,  think'st 
thou? 

Quick.  Sure  he  is,  by  this,  or  will  be  presently;  but 
truly,  he  is  very  courageous  mad  about  his  throwing 
inlo  ihe  water.  Mistress  Ford  desires  you  to  come 
suddenly. 

Mrs.  Page.  I'll  be  with  her  by  and  by:  I'll  but 
bring  my  young  man  here  to  school.     Look,  where  his 
master  comes ;  't  is  a  playing  day,  I  see. 
Enter  Sir  HUGH  EVANS. 
How  now,  sir  Hugh  !  no  school  to-day  ? 

Eva.  No;  master  Slender  is  get1  the  boys  leave  to 
play. 

Quick.  Blessing  of  his  heart ! 

Mrs.  Page.  Sir  Hugh,  my  husband  says,  my  son 
profits  nothing  in  the  world  at  his  book :  I  pray  you, 
ask  him  some  questions  in  his  accidence. 

Eva.  Come  hither,  William :  hold  up  your  head ; 
come. 

Mrs.  Page.  Come  on,  sirrah :  hold  up  your  head  : 
answer  your  master ;  be  not  afraid. 

Eva.  William,  how  many  numbers  is  in  nouns  ? 

Will.  Two. 

Quick.  Truly,  I  thought  there  had  been  one  number 
more,  because  they  say,  od  's  nouns. 

Eva.  Peace  your  tattlings  ! — What  is  fair.  William? 

Will.  Pulcher. 

Quick.  Pole-cats  !  there  are  fairer  things  than  pole- 
tats,  sure. 

Eva.  You  are  a  very  simplicity  'oman :  I  pray  you, 
peace.— What  is  lapis,  William  ? 

Will.     A  stone. 

Eva.  And  what  is  a  stone,  William  ? 

Will  A  pebble. 

Eva.  No,  it  is  lapis :  I  pray  you  remember  in  your 
prain. 

Will.  Lapis. 

»  let :  in  f.  e. 


SO.  I.  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  183 

Eva.  That  is  good,  William.  What  is  he,  William 
that  does  lend  articles? 

Will.  Articles  are  borrowed  of  the  pronoun:  and  be 
thus  declined,  Singularitcr,  nominativo,  hie,  h<zc,  hoc. 

Eva.  Nominativo.  hig,  hag,  hog; — pray  you,  mark; 
genitivo,  hujus.  Well,  what  is  your  accusative  case  ? 

Will.  Accusative,  hinc. 

Eva.  I  pray  you,  have  your  remembrance,  child ; 
'.lecusativo,  king,  hang.  hog. 

Quick.  Hang  hog  is  Latin  for  bacon,  I  warrant  you. 

Eva.  Leave  your  prabbles,  'oman. — What  is  the 
focative  case,  William  ? 

Will.  0 — vocativo.  O. 

Eva.  Remember,  William ;  focative  is,  caret. 

Quick.  And  that 's  a  good  root. 

Eva.  'Oman,  forbear. 

Mrs.  Page.  Peace  ! 

Eva.  What  is  your  genitive  case  plural,  William  ? 

Will.  Genitive  case  ? 

Eva.  Ay. 

Will.  Genitive, — horum,  harum,  horum. 

Quick.  Vengeance  of  Jenny's  case  !  fie  on  her  !— 
Never  name  her,  child,  if  she  be  a  whore. 

Eva.  For  shame,  'oman  ! 

Quick.  You  do  ill  to  teach  the  child  such  words. — 
He  teaches  him  to  hick  and  to  hack,  which  they  '11  do 
fast  enough  of  themselves  ;  and  to  call  horum, — fie 
upon  you  ! 

Eva.  'Oman,  art  thou  lunatics?  hast  thou  no  under- 
standings for  thy  cases,  and  the  numbers  and  the  gen- 
ders? Thou  art  as  foolish  Christian  creatures  as  I 
would  desires. 

Mrs.  Page.  Pr'ythee  hold  thy  peace. 

Eva.  Show  me  now,  William,  some  declensions  of 
your  pronouns. 

Will.  Forsooth,  I  have  forgot. 

Eva.  It  is  qtd,  qua,  quod ;  if  you  forget  your  quis^ 
your  qwzs,  and  your  quods,  you  must  be  preeches1.  Go 
your  ways,  and  play;  go. 

Mrs.  Page.  He  is  a  better  scholar  than  I  thought  he 
was. 

Eva.  He  is  a  good  sprag2  memory.  Farewell,  mis- 
•tress  Page. 

1  Sncckcd,  whipped.     '  Spry,  quick. 


184  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.       ACT  IV. 

Mrs.  Page.  Adieu,  good  sir  Hugh.  [Exit  Sir  HUGH.] 
Get  you  home,  boy. — Come,  we  stay  too  long.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IT. — A  Room  in  FORD'S  House. 
Enter  FALSTAFF  and  Mrs.  FORD. 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford,  your  sorrow  hath  eaten  up  my 
sufferance.  I  see.  you  are  obsequious  in  your  love, 
and  I  profess  requital  to  a  hair's  breadth :  not  only, 
Mrs.  Ford,  in  the  simple  office  of  love,  but  in  all  the 
accoutrement,  complement,  and  ceremony  of  it.  But 
are  you  sure  of  your  husband  now  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  He 's  a  birding,  sweet  sir  John. 

Mrs.  Page.  [Within.]  What  hoa!  gossip  Ford  !  what 
hoa  ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  Step  into  the  chamber,  sir  John. 

[Exit  FALSTAFF. 
Enter  Mrs.  PAGE. 

Mrs.  Page.  How  now,  sweetheart !  who 's  at  home 
besides  yourself? 

Mrs  Ford.  Why,  none  but  mine  own  people. 

Mrs.  Page.  Indeed  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  No,  certainly. — [Aside.]'  Speak  louder. 

Mrs.  Page.  Truly,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  nobody 
here. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  woman,  your  husband  is  in  his  old 
Tunes  again :  he  so  takes  on  yonder  with  my  husband ; 
BO  rails  against  all  married  mankind ;  so  curses  all  Eve's 
daughters,  of  what  complexion  soever ;  and  so  buffets 
himself  on  the  forehead,  crying,  "  Peer-out,  Peer-out !  " 
that  any  madness  I  ever  yet  beheld  seemed  but  tame- 
ness,  civility,  and  patience,  to  this  distemper  he  is  in 
now.  I  am  glad  the  fat  knight  is  not  here. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why.  does  he  talk  of  him  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Of  none  but  him ;  and  swears,  he  was 
carried  out.  the  last  time  he  searched  for  him,  in  a 
basket :  protests  to  my  husband  he  is  now  here,  and 
hath  drawn  him  and  the  rest  of  their  company  from 
their  sport,  to  make  another  experiment  of  his  sus- 
picion. But  I  am  glad  the  knight  is  not  here;  now 
he  shall  see  his  own  foolery. 

Mis.  Ford.  How  near  is  he,  mistress  Page? 

Mrs.  Page.  Hard  by;  at  street  end:  he  will  be  here 
anon. 


EC.  II.         THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  185 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  am  undone  !  the  knight  is  here. 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  then  you  are  utterly  shamed,  and 
he 's  but  a  dead  man.  What  a  woman  are  you  ! — 
Away  with  him,  away  with  him  :  better  shame,  than 
murder. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Which  way  should  he  go  ?  how  should  I 
bestow  him?  Shall  I  put  him  into  ths  basket  again? 
Re-enter  FALSTAFF  in  fright.1 

F:l.  No,  I'll  come  no  more  in  the  basket  May  I 
not  go  out,  ere  he  come  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Alas,  three  of  master  Ford's  brothers 
watch  the  door  with  pistols,  that  none  shall  issue  out ; 
otherwise  you  might  slip  away  ere  he  came.  But  what 
make  you  here  ? 

Fal.  What  shall  I  do? — I  '11  creep  up  into  the  chim- 
ney. 

Mrs.  Ford.  There  they  always  use  to  discharge  their 
birding-pieces.  Creep  into  the  kiln-hole. 

Fal.  Where  is  it  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  He  will  seek  there,  on  my  word.  Neither 
press,  coffer,  chest,  trunk,  well,  vault,  but  he  hath  an 
abstract  for  the  remembrance  of  such  places,  and  goes 
to  them  by  his  note ;  there  is  no  hiding  you  in  the 
house. 

Fal.  I  '11  go  out,  then. 

Mrs.  Page.  If  you  go  out  in  your  own  semblance, 
you  die,  sir  John.  Unless  you  go  out  disguised, — 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  might  we  disguise  him  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Alas  the  day  !  I  know  not.  There  is 
no  woman's  gown  big  enough  for  him ;  other-wise,  he 
might  put  on  a  hat,  a  muffler,  and  a  kerchief,  and  so 
escape. 

Fal  Good  hearts,  devise  something :  any  extremity, 
rather  than  a  mischief. 

Mrs.  Ford.  My  maid's  aunt,  the  fat  woman  of  Brent- 
ford, has  a  gown  above. 

Mrs.  Page.  On  my  word  it  will  serve  him:  she's  as 
big  as  he.  is :  and  there  's  her  thrum'd  hat,  and  her 
muffler  too. — Run  up,  sir  John. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go,  go,  sweet  sir  John :  mistress  Page 
and  I  will  look  some  linen  for  your  head. 

Mrs.  Page.  Quick,  quick :  we  '11  come  dress  you 
straight ;  put  on  the  gown  the  while  [Exit  FALSTAFF. 

1  in  fright :  not  in  f.  e. 


186  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.      ACT  IV. 

Mrf.  Ford.  I  would  my  husband  would  meet  him  ic 
this  shape :  he  cannot  abide  the  old  woman  of  Brent- 
ford ;  he  swears,  she's  a  witch ;  forbade  her  my  house, 
and  hath  threatened  to  beat  her. 

Mrs.  Page.  Heaven  guide  him  to  thy  husband's 
cudgel,  and  the  devil  guide  his  cudgel  afterwards  ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  But  is  my  husband  coming  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Ay,  in  good  sadness,  is  he ;  and  talks  of 
the  basket  too.  howsoever  he  hath  had  intelligence. 

Mrs.  Ford.  We  '11  try  that ;  for  I  '11  appoint  my  men 
to  carry  the  basket  again,  to  meet  him  at  the  door  with 
it,  as  they  did  last  time. 

Mrs.  Page.  Nay,  but  he  '11  be  here  presently :  let 's 
go  dress  him  like  the  witch  of  Brentford. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  '11  first  direct  my  men,  what  they  shall 
do  with  the  basket.  Go  up.  I  '11  bring  linen  for  him 
straight.  [Exit. 

Mrs.  Page.  Hang  him,  dishonest  varlet !  we  cannot 
misuse  him  enough. 

We  '11  leave  a  proof,  by  that  which  we  will  do, 

Wives  may  be  merry,  and  yet  honest  too : 

We  do  not  act,  that  often  jest  and  lauah  : 

7T  is  old  but  true.  "  Still  swine  eat  all  the  draff." 

[Exit. 
Re-enter  Mrs.  FORD,  with  two  Servants. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go,  sirs,  take  the  basket  again  on  your 
shoulders :  your  master  is  hard  at  door ;  if  he  bid  you 
set  it  down,  obey  him.  Quickly;  despatch.  [Exit. 

1  Serv.  Come,  come,  take  it  up. 

2  Serv.  Pray  heaven,  it  be  not  full  of  knight  again. 

1  Serv.  I  hope  not :  I  had  as  lief  bear  so  much  lead. 
Enter  FORD,  PAGE,  SHALLOW,  CAIUS,  and  Sir  HUGH 
EVANS. 

Ford.  Ay,  but  if  it  prove  true,  master  Page,  have 
you  any  way  then  to  unfool  me  again  ? — Set  down  the 
basket,  villains. — Somebody  call  my  wife. — Youth  in  a 
basket  ! — 0  you  panderly  rascals  !  there  's  a  knot,  a 
ging1,  a  pack,  a  conspiracy  against  me  :  now  shall  the 
devil  be  shamed. — What,  wife,  I  say?  Come,  come 
forth :  behold  what  honest  clothes  you  send  forth  to 
bleaching. 

Page.  Why,  this  passes !  Master  Ford,  you  are  not 
to  go  loose  any  longer ;  you  must  be  pinioned. 

»  Gang. 


SC.  II.          THE    MERRY    WIVES    Of    WINDSOR.  187 

Eva.  Why,  this  is  lunatics  :  this  is  mad  as  a  mad 
dog. 

Shal.  Indeed,  master  Ford,  this  is  not  well ;  indeed. 
Enter  Mrs.  FORD. 

Ford.  So  say  I  too,  sir. — Come  hither,  mistress  Ford; 
mistress  Ford,  the  honest  woman,  the  modest  wile,  the 
virtuous  creature,  that  hath  the  jealous  fool  to  her 
husband. — I  suspect  without  cause,  mistress,  do  I  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Heaven  be  my  witness,  you  do,  if  you 
suspect  me  in  any  dishonesty. 

Fora.  Well  said,  brazen-face;  hold  it  out. — Come 
forth,  sirrah.  [Pulls  the  Clothes  out,1  and  throws  them 
all  over  the  stage. 

Page.  This  passes ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  Are  you  not  ashamed  ?  let  the  clothes 
alone. 

Ford.  I  shall  find  you  anon. 

Eva.  'T  is  unreasonable.  Will  you  take  up  your 
wife's  clothes  ?  Come  away. 

Ford.  Empty  the  basket,  I  say. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  man,  why, — 

Ford.  Master  Page,  as  I  am  a  man,  there  was  one 
conveyed  out  of  my  house  yesterday  in  this  basket : 
why  may  not  he  be  there  again  ?  In  my  house  I  am 
sure  he  is :  my  intelligence  is  true ;  my  jealousy  is 
reasonable. — Pluck  me  out  all  the  linen. 

Mrs.  Ford.  If  you  find  a  man  there,  he  shall  die  a 
flea's  death.  [All  Clothes  thrown  out.' 

Page.  Here  's  no  man. 

Shal.  By  my  fidelity,  this  is  not  well,  master  Ford  ; 
this  wrongs  you. 

Eva.  Master  Ford,  you  must  pray,  and  not  follow 
the  imaginations  of  your  own  heart :  this  is  jealousies. 

Ford.  Well,  he  's  not  here  I  seek  for. 

Page.  No,  nor  no  where  else,  but  in  your  brain. 

Ford.  Help  to  search  my  house  this  one  time :  if  I 
find  not  what  I  seek,  show  no  colour  for  my  extremity, 
lei  me  for  ever  be  your  table-sport ;  let  them  say  of 
me,  "  As  jealous  as  Ford,  tha^  searched  a  hollow 
walnut  for  his  wife's  lemau3."  Satisfy  me  once  more , 
once  more  search  with  me. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  hoa  !  mistress  Page  !  come  you, 

i  The  rest  of  the  direction  not  in  f.  e.  »  Not  c  f .  e  '  Lover ; 
also  used  for  mistress. 


188  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.       ACT  IV 

and  the  old  woman,  down  ;  my  husband  will  come  into 
fhe  chamber. 

Ford.  Old  woman  !     What  old  woman 's  that  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  it  is  my  maid's  aunt  of  Brentford. 

Ford.  A  witch,  a  quean,  an  old  cozening  quean  ? 
Have  I  not  forbid  her  my  house  ?  She  comes  of 
errands,  does  she  ?  We  are  simple  men  ;  we  do  not 
know  what 's  brought  to  p.iss  under  the  profession  of 
fortune-telling.  She  works  by  charms,  by  spells,  by 
the  figure,  and  such  daubery  as  this  is ;  beyond  our 
element :  we  know  nothing. — Come  down,  you  witch, 
you  hag  you  ;  come  down  I  say. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  -good,  sweet  husband. — Good  gen- 
tlemen, let  him  not  strike  the  old  woman. 
Enter  FALSTAFF  in  Women's  Clothes,  led  by  Mrs.  PAGE. 

Mrs.  Page.  Come,  mother  Prat  j  come,  give  me  your 
hand. 

Ford.  I  '11  prat  her. — Out  of  my  door,  you  witch  ! 
[beats  him]  you  rag,  you  baggage,  you  polecat,  you 
ronyon1  !  out !  out !  I  '11  conjure  you,  I  '11  fortune-tell 
you.  [Exit  FALSTAFF. 

Mrs.  Page.  Are  you  not  ashamed  !  I  think,  you 
have  killed  the  poor  woman. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  he  will  do  it.— 'T  is  a  goodly  credit 
for  you. 

Ford.  Hang  her,  witch  ! 

Eva.  By  yea  and  nay.  I  think,  the  'oman  is  a  witch 
indeed  :  I  like  not  when  a  'oman  has  a  great  peard  ;  I 
spy  a  great  peard  under  her  muffler. 

Ford.  Will  you  follow,  gentlemen  ?  I  beseech  you, 
follow  :  see  but  the  issue  of  my  jealousy.  If  I  cry  out 
thus  upon  no  trail,  never  trust  me  when  I  open  again. 

Page.  Let 's  obey  his  humour  a  little  farther.  Come, 
gentlemen.  [Exeunt  ~FORT>,  PAGE.  SHALLOW,  and  EVANS. 

Mrs.  Page.  Trust  me,  he  beat  him  most  pitifully, 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  by  the  mass,  that  he  did  not ,  he 
beat  him  most  unpitifully,  methought. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  '11  have  the  cudgel  hallowed,  and  hung 
e'er  the  altar;  it  hatk  done  meritorious  service. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  think  you?  May  we,  with  the 
warrant  of  womanhood,  and  the  witness  of  a  good  con- 
science pursue  him  with  any  farther  revenge  ? 

Hfrs.  Page.  The  spirit  of  wantonness,  is,  sure,  scared 

1  Fr.  rogue,  for  scurf. 


SC.  IV.       THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  189 

out  of  him  :  if  the  devil  have  him  not  in  fee  simple, 
with  fine  and  recovery,  he  will  never,  I  think,  in  the 
way  of  waste,  attempt  us  again. 

Mrs.  Ford  Shall  we  tell  our  husbands  how  we  have 
served  him  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Yes,  by  all  means  ;  if  it  be  but  to  scrape 
the  figures  out  of  your  husband's  brains.  If  they  can 
find  in  their  hearts  the  poor  unvirtuous  fat  knight 
shall  be  any  farther  afflicted,  we  two  will  still  be  the 
ministers. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  '11  warrant,  they  '11  have  him  publicly 
shamed,  and,  methinks,  there  would  be  no  period  to 
the  jest.  Should  he  not  be  publicly  shamed  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Come,  to  the  forge  with  it.  then  shape 
il :  I  would  not  have  things  cool.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 

Enter  Host  and  BARDOLPH. 

Bard.  Sir.  the  Germans  desire  to  have  three  of  your 
horses  :  the  duke  himself  will  be  to-morrow  at  court, 
and  they  are  going  to  meet  him. 

Host.  What  duke  should  that  be,  conies  so  secretly  ? 
I  hear  not  of  him  in  the  court.     Let  me  speak  with 
the  gentlemen  ;  they  speak  English  ? 
Bard.  Ay,  sir  ;  I  '11  call  them  to  you. 
Host.  They  shall  have   my  horses,   but  I  '11    make 
them  pay  ;  I  '11  sauce  them  :  they  have  had  my  house 
a  week   at  command  :  I  have  turned  away  my  other 
guests:  they  must  come  off1  ;  I'll  sauce  them.     Come. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. — A  Room  in  FORD'S  House. 

Enter  PAGE,  FORD,  Mrs.  PAGE,  Mrs.  FORD,  and 

Sir  HUGH  EVANS. 

Eva.  'T  is  one  of  the  pest  discretions  of  a  'oman  as 
ever  I  did  look  upon. 

Page.  And  did  he  send  you  both  these  letters  at  an 
instant  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Ford.  Pardon  me,  wife.  •  Henceforth  do  what  thou 

wilt; 
I  rather  will  suspect  the  sun  with  cold, 


190  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.      ACT  IV. 

Than   thee  with  wantonness ;  now  doth  thy  honour 

stand, 

In  him  that  was  of  late  a  heretic, 
As  firm  as  faith. 

Page.  ;T  is  well,  'tis  well;  no  more. 
Be  not  as  extreme  in  submission, 
As  in  offence ; 

But  let  our  plot  go  forward  :  let  our  wives 
Yet  once  again,  to  make  us  public  sport, 
Appoint  a  meeting  with  this  old  fat  fellow, 
Where  we  may  take  him,  and  disgrace  him  for  it. 

Ford.  There  is  no  better  way  than  that  they  spoke  of. 

Page.  How  ?  to  send  him  word  they  '11  meet  him  in 
the  park  at  midnight?  fie,  fie  !  he  '11  never  come. 

Eva.  You  see,1  he  has  been  thrown  into  the  rivers, 
and  has  been  grievously  peaten,  as  an  old  'oman ;  me- 
thinks,  there  should  be  terrors  in  him,  that  he  should 
not  come:  methinks,  his  flesh  is  punished,  he  shall 
have  no  desires. 

Page.  So  think  I  too. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Devise  but  how  you  '11  use  him  when  he 

comes, 
And  let  us  two  devise  to  bring  him  thither. 

Mrs.  Page.  There  is  an  old  tale  goes,  that  Herne 

the  hunter, 

Sometime  a  keeper  here  in  Windsor  forest. 
Doth  all  the  winter  time,  at  still  midnight, 
Walk  round  about  the  oak.  with  great  ragg'd  horns  ; 
And  there  he  blasts  the  trees,  and  takes3  the  cattle ; 
And  makes  milch-kine  yield  blood,  and  shakes  a  chain 
In  a  most  hideous  and  dreadful  manner. 
You  have  heard  of  such  a  spirit;  and  well  you  know, 
The  superstious  idle-headed  eld 
Received,  and  did  deliver  to  our  age, 
This  tale  of  Herne  the  hunter  for  a  truth. 

Page.  Why,  yet  there  want  not  many,  that  do  fear 
In  deep  of  night  to  walk  by  this  Home's  oak. 
But  what  of  this  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Marry,  this  is  our  devise  ; 

That  Falstaff  at  that  oak  shall  meet  with  us, 
Disguis'd  like  Herne,  with  huge  horns  on  his  head. 

Page.  Well,  let  it  not  be  doubted  but  he  '11  come, 
And  in  this  shape :  when  you  have  brought  him  thither, 

>  say  :  in  f.  e.    "  possesses. 


-<C.  IV.        TEIE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  191 

What  shall  be  done  with  him?  what  is  your  plj>t? 

Mrs.  Page.  That  likewise  have  we  thought  upon, 

and  thus. 

Nan  Page  my  daughter,  and  my  little  son, 
And  throe  or  four  more  of  their  growth,  we  '11  drems 
Like  urchins,  ouphcs1,  and  fairies,  green  and  white, 
With  rounds  of  waxen  tapers  on  their  heads, 
And  rattles  in  their  hands.     Upon  a  sudden, 
As  Falstaff,  she.  and  I,  are  newly  met, 
Let.  them  from  forth  a  saw-pit  rush  at  once 
With  some  diffused8  song:  upon  their  sight, 
We  two  in  great  amazedness  will  fly : 
Then,  let  them  all  encircle  him  about. 
And,  fairy-like,  to-pinchs  the  unclean  knight ; 
And  ask  him,  why,  that  hour  of  fairy  revel, 
In  their  so  sacred  paths  he  dares  to  tread, 
In  shape  profane. 

Mrs.  Ford.  And  till  he  tell  the  truth, 
Let  the  supposed  fairies  pinch  him  soundly, 
And  burn  him  with  their  tapers. 

Mrs.  Page.  The  truth  being  known, 

We  '11  all  present  ourselves,  dis-horn  the  spirit, 
And  mock  him  home  to  Windsor. 

Ford.  The  children  must 

Be  practised  well  to  this,  or  they  '11  ne'er  do 't. 
.  Eva.  I  will  teach  the  children  their  behaviours  ;  and 
I  will  be  like  a  jack-an-apes  also,  to  burn  the  knight 
with  my  taber. 

Ford.  That  will   be  excellent.     I  '11  go  buy  them 
vizards. 

Mrs.  Page.  My  Nan  shall  be  the  queen  of  all  the 

fairies, 
Finely  attired  in  a  robe  of  white. 

Page.  That  silk  will  I  go  buy ;— [Aside]  and  in 

that  time 

Shall  master  Slender  steal  my  Nan  away, 
And   marry  her   at   Eton.     [To  them]     Go,    send  to 
Falstaff  straight. 

Ford.  Nay,  I  '11  to  him  again  in  name  of  Brook; 
He  '11  tell  me  all  his  purpose.     Sure,  he  '11  come. 

Mrs.  Page.  Fear   not  you   that.     Go,  get  us  pro- 
perties, 
And  tricking  for  our  fairies. 

1  Elves.     »  Irregular.    3  Be-'pinch 


192  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.      ACT  IV 

Eva.  Let  us  about  it :  it  is  admirable  pleasure*,  and 
fery  honest  knaveries. 

[Exeunt  PAGE,  FORD,  and  EVIKS. 
Mrs.  Page.  Go,  mistress  Ford, 
Send  Quickly  to  sir  John,  to  know  his  mind. 

[Exit  Mrs.  FORD 

1  '11  to  the  doctor  :  he  hath  my  good  will, 
And  none  but  he,  to  marry  with  Nan  Page. 
That  Slender,  though  well  landed,  is  an  idiot ; 
And  him  my  husband  best  of  all  affects : 
The  doctor  is  well  money'd,  and  his  friends 
Potent  at  court :  he,  none  but  he,  shall  have  her, 
Though  twenty  thousand  worthier  come  to  crave  her. 

[Exit 

SCENE  V.— A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  Host  and  SIMPLE. 

Host.  What  wouldst  thou  have,  boor  ?  what,  thick- 
skin?  speak,  breathe,  discuss;  brief,  short,  quick, 
snap. 

Sim.  Marry,  sir,  I  come  to  speak  with  sir  John  Fal- 
staff  from  master  Slender. 

Host.  There  ;s  his  chamber,  his  house,  his  castle,  his 
standing-bed,  and  truckle-bed  :  't  is  painted  about  with 
the  story  of  the  prodigal,  fresh  and  new.  Go,  knock 
and  call ;  he  ;11  speak  like  an  Anthropophaginian  unto 
thee  :  knock,  I  say. 

Sim.  There  's  an  old  woman,  a  fat  woman,  gone  up 
into  his  chamber  :  I'll  be  so  bold  as  stay,  sir,  till  she 
come  down  ;  I  come  to  speak  with  her,  indeed. 

Host.  Ha!  a  fat  woman?  the  knight  may  be  robbed : 
I  '11  call. — Bully  knight !  Bully  sir  John  !" speak  from 
thy  lungs  military ;  art  thou  there  ?  it  is  thine  host, 
thine  Ephesian,  calls. 

Fui.  [Above.]  How  now,  mine  host  ? 

Host.  Here's  a  Bohemian  Tartar  tarries  the  coming 
dowr  of  thy  fat  woman.  Let  her  descend,  bully,  let 
lier  descend  :  my  chambers  are  honourable  :  fie  !  pri- 
vacy9 fie! 

Enter  FALSTAFF. 

Fal.  There  was,  mine  host,  an  old  fat  woman  ever 
now  with  me,  but  she 's  gone. 

Sim.  Pray  you,  sir,  was  't  not  the  wise  woman  of 
Brentford  ? 


BC.    T.         THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  193 

Fal.  Ay,  marry,  -was  it,  muscle-shell :  what  would 
you  with  her  ? 

Sim.  My  master,  sir,  my  master  Slender,  sent  to  her, 
seeing  her  go  through  the  streets,  to  know,  sir,  whether 
one  Nym,  sir,  that  beguiled  him  of  a  chain,  had  the 
chain,  or  no. 

Fal,  I  spake  with  the  old  woman  about  it. 

Sim.  And  what  says  she,  I  pray,  sir  ? 

Fal.  Marry,  she  says,  that  the  very  same  man  that 
beguiled  master  Slender  of  his  chain,  cozened  him 
of  it. 

Sim.  I  would  I  could  have  spoken  with  the  woman 
herself :  I  had  other  things  to  have  spoken  with  her, 
too,  from  him. 

Fal.  What  are  they  ?  let  us  know. 

Host.  Ay,  come ;  quick. 

Fal.  You1  may  not  conceal  them,  sir. 

Host.  Conceal  them,  and8  thou  diest. 

Sim.  Why,  sir,  they  were  nothing  but  about  mistress 
Anne  Page  ;  to  know,  if  it  were  my  master's  fortune  to 
have  her,  or  no. 

Fal.  ;T  is,  7t  is  his  fortune. 

Sim.  What,  sir  ? 

Fal.  To  have  her, — or  no.  Go ;  say,  the  woman 
told  me  so. 

Sim.  May  I  be  bold  to  say  so,  sir  ? 

Fal.  Ay,  sir,  tike,  who  more  bold  ? 

Sim.  I  thank  your  worship.  I  shall  make  my  mas- 
ter glad  with  these  tidings.  [Exit  SIMPLE. 

Host.  Thou  art  clerkly,  thou  art  clerkly,  sir  John. 
Was  there  a  wise  woman  with  thee  ? 

Fal.  Ay,  that  there  was,  mine  host ;  one,  that  hath 
taught  me  more  wit  than  ever  I  learned  before  in  my 
life :  and  I  paid  nothing  for  it  neither,  but  was  paid 
for  my  learning. 

Enter  BARDOLPH. 

Bard.  Out,  alas,  sir  !  cozenage  ;  mere  cozenage  ! 

Host.  Where  be  my  horses  ?  speak  well  of  them, 
varletto. 

Bard.  Run  away  with  by3  the  cozeners ;  for  so  soon  as 
I  came  beyond  Eton,  they  threw  me  off  from  behind  one 
of  them  in  a  slough  of  mire  ;  and  set  spurs,  and  away, 
like  three  German  devils,  three  Doctor  Faustuses. 


194  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.      ACT  IV 

Host.  They  are  gone  but  to  meet  the  duke,  villain. 
Do  not  say,  they  be  fled ;  Germans  are  honest  men. 
Enter  Sir  HUGH  EVANS. 

Eva.  Where  is  mine  host  ? 

Host.  What  is  the  matter,  sir  ? 

Eva.  Have  a  care  of  your  entertainments :  thei  e  is 
a  friend  of  mine  come  to  town  tells  me.  there  is  three 
couzin  germans,  that  has  cozened  all  the  hosts  of  Read- 
ings, of  Maidenhead,  of  Colebrook,  of  horses  and  money. 
I  tell  you  for  good  will,  look  you :  you  are  wise,  and 
full  of  gibes  and  vlouting-stogs,  and  'tis  not  convenient 
you  should  be  -cozened.  Fare  you  well. 

[Exit. 
Enter  Doctor  CAIUS. 

Caius.  Vere  is  mine  Host  de  Jarretihe  ? 

Host.  Here,  master  doctor,  in  perplexity,  and  doubt- 
ful dilemma. 

Caius.  I  cannot  tell  vat  is  dat ;  but  it  is  tell-a  me, 
dat  you  make  grand  preparation  for  a  duke  de  Jar- 
many  :  by  my  trot,  dere  is  no  duke,  dat  de  court  is 
know  to  come.  I  tell  you  for  good  vill:  adieu. 

[Exit. 

Host.  Hue  and  cry,  villain !  go. — Assist  me,  knight; 
I  am  undone. — Fly,  run.  hue  and  cry,  villain !  I  am 
undone ! 

[Exeunt  Host  and  BARDOLPH. 

Fal.  I  would  all  the  world  might  be  cozened,  for  I 
have  been  cozened  and  beaten  too.  If  it  should  come 
to  the  ear  of  the  court  how  I  have  been  transformed, 
and  how  my  transformation  hath  been  washed  and  cud- 
gelled, they  would  melt  me  out  of  my  fat,  drop  by  drop, 
and  liquor  fishermen's  boots  with  me  :  I  warrant,  they 
would  whip  me  with  their  fine  wits,  till  I  were  as  crest- 
fallen as  a  dried  pear.  I  never  prospered  since  I  for- 
swore myself  at  primero.1  Well,  if  my  wind  were  but 
long  enough,"  I  would  pray  and  repent. 
Enter  Mistress  QUICKLY. 
Now,  whence  come  you  ? 

Quick.  From  the  two  parties,  forsooth. 

Fal.  The  devil  take  one  party,  and  his  dam  the  other, 
and  so  they  shall  be  both  bestowed.     I  have  suffered 
more  for  their  sakes,  more,  tha'n  the  villainous  incon- 
etancy  of  man's  disposition  i&  able  to  bear. 
*  A  game  of  cards.     2  to  say  my  prayers  from  the  quartos  :  in  f.  e 


SC.  VI.       THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  195 

Quick.  And  have  not  they  suffered?  Yes,  I  -war- 
rant ;  speciously  one  of  them  :  mistress  Ford,  good 
heart,  is  beaten  black  and  blue,  that  you  cannot  see  a 
white  spot  about  her. 

Fal.  What  tell'st  thou  me  of  black  and  blue?  I 
was  beaten  myself  into  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow ; 
and  I  was  like  to  be  apprehended  for  the  witch  of 
Brentford :  but  that  my  admirable  dexterity  of  wit,  my 
counterfeiting  the  action  of  an  old  woman,  deliver'd 
me,  the  knave  constable  had  set  me  i'  the  stocks,  i' 
the  common  stocks,  for  a  witch. 

Quick.  Sir,  let  me  speak  with  you  in  your  chamber; 
you  shall  hear  how  things  go,  and,  I  warrant,  to  your 
content.  Here  is  a  letter  will  say  somewhat.  Good 
hearts  !  what  ado  here  is  to  bring  you  together.  Sure, 
one  of  you  does  not  serve  heaven  well,  that  you  are  so 
crossed. 

Fal.  Come  up  into  my  chamber.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.— Another  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  FENTON  and  Host. 

Host.  Master  Fenton,  talk  not  to  me;  my  mind  is 
heavy;  I  will  give  over  all. 

Pent.  Yet  hear  me  speak.    Assist  me  in  my  purpose, 
And,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  P  11  give  thee 
A  hundred  pound  in  gold  more  than  your  loss. 

Host.  I  will  hear  you,  master  Fenton;  and  I  will; 
at  the  least,  keep  your  counsel. 

Fent.  From  time  to  time  I  have  acquainted  you 
With  the  dear  love  I  bear  to  fair  Anne  Page ; 
Who,  mutually,  hath  answer'd  my  affection 
(So  far  forth  as  herself  might  be  l;er  chooser) 
Even  to  my  wish.     I  have  a  letter  from  her     • 
Of  such  contents  as  you  will  wonder  at ; 
The  mirth  whereof  so  larded  with  my  matter, 
That  neither,  singly,  can  be  manifested, 
Without  the  show  of  both ; — wherein  fat  Falstaff 
Hath  a  great  scene :  the  image  of  the  jest 

[Shovnng  Ihe  Lcttet 

I  '11  show  you  here  at  large.     Hark,  good  mine  Host : 
To-night  at  Herne's  oak,  just  Hwixt  twelve  and  one, 
Must  my  sweet  Nan  present  the  fairy  queen; 
The  purpose  why,  is  here :  in  which  disguise, 
While  other  jests  are  something  rank  on  foot, 


196  THE    MERRY    AYIVES    OF    WINDSOR.         ACT  T 

Her  fa -her  hath  commanded  her  to  slip 

Away  with  Slender,  and  with  him  at  Eton 

Immediately  to  marry  :  she  hath  consented. 

Now,  sir, 

Her  mother,  even  strong  against  that  match, 

And  firm  for  Dr.  Caius,  hath  appointed 

That  he  shall  likewise  shuffle  her  away, 

While  other  sports  are  tasking  of  their  minds, 

And  at  the  deanery,  where  a  priest  attends, 

Straight  rnarry  her  :  to  this  her  mother's  plot 

She,  seemingly  obedient,  likewise  hath 

Made  promise  to  the  doctor. — Now,  thus  it  rests  : 

Her  father  means  she  shall  be  ail  in  white ; 

And  in  that  habit,  when  Slender  sees  his  time 

To  take  her  by  the  hand,  and  bid  her  go, 

She  shall  go  with  him : — her  mother  hath  intended, 

The  better  to  denote  her  to  the  doctor, 

(For  they  must  all  be  mask'd  and  vizarded) 

That  quaint  in  green  she  shall  be  loose  eurob'd, 

With  ribands  pendant,  flaring  ;bout  her  head ; 

And  when  the  doctor  spies  his  vantage  ripe, 

To  pinch  her  by  the  hand,  and  on  that  token 

The  maid  hath  given  consent  to  go  with  him. 

Host.    Which   means    she    to    deceive?    father    of 
mother  ? 

Pent.  Both,  my  good  host,  to  go  along  with  me  : 
And  here  it  rests, — that  you  '11  procure  the  vicar 
To  stay  for  me  at  church  'twixt  twelve  and  one, 
And  in  the  lawful  name  of  marrying, 
To  give  our  hearts  united  ceremony. 

Host.  Well,  husband  your  device  :  I  '11  to  the  victr. 
Bring  you  the  maid,  you  shall  not  lack  a  priest. 

Feid.  So  shall  I  evermore  be  bound  to  thee ; 
Besides,  I  '11  make  a  present  recompense.          [Exeunt 


ACT  V. 
SCENE  I. — A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 

Enter  FALSTAFF  and  Mrs.  QUICKLY. 
Fal.  Pr'ythee.   no  more  prattling  ; — go  : — 1  ''11  hold. 
This  is  the  third  time ;  I  hope,  good  luck  lies  in  odd 
numbers.     Away.  go.     They  say,  there  is  divinity  ill 


SO.   II.          THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  197 

odd  numbers,  either  in  nativity,  chance,  or  death.— 
Away. 

Quick.  I  '11  provide  you  a  chain,  and  I  '11  do  what  I 
can  to  get  you  a  pair  of  horns. 

Fal.  Away,  I  say ;  time  wears ;  hold  up  your  head, 
and  mince.1  [Exit  Mrs.  QUICKLY. 

Enter  FORD. 

How  now,  master  Brook !  Master  Brook,  the  matter 
will  be  known  to-night  or  never.  Be  you  in  the  Park 
about  midnight,  at  Herne's  oak,  and  you  shall  see 
wonders. 

Ford.  Went  you  not  to  her  yesterday,  sir,  as  you 
told  me  you  had  appointed  ? 

Fal.  I  went  to  her.  master  Brook,  as  you  see,  like  a 
poor  old  man ;  but  I  came  from  her,  master  Brook, 
like  a  poor  old  woman.  That  same  knave,  Ford  her 
husband,  hath  the  finest  mad  devil  of  jealousy  in  him, 
master  Brook,  that  ever  governed  frenzy.  I  will  tell 
you. — He  beat  me  grievously,  in  the  shape  of  a  woman ; 
for  in  the  shape  of  man.  master  Brook,  I  fear  not 
Goliah  with  a  weaver's  beam,  because  I  know  also, 
life  is  a  shuttle.  I  am  in  haste:  go  along  with  me; 
I'll-  tell  you  all.  master  Brook.  'Since  I  plucked  geese, 
played  truant,  and  whipped  top,  I  knew  not  what  it 
was  to  be  beaten,  till  lately.  Follow  me :  I  '11  tell  you 
strange  things  of  this  knave  Ford,  on  whom  to-night  I 
will  be  revenged,  and  I  will  deliver  his  wife  into  your 
hand. — Follow.  Strange  things  in  hand,  master  Brook : 
follow.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— Windsor  Park. 
Enter  PAGE,  SHALLOW,  and  SLENDER. 

Page.  Come,  come :  we  '11  couch  i'  the  castle-ditch, 
lill  we  see  the  light  of  our  fairies. — Remember,  son 
Slender,  my  daughter. 

Slen.  Ay,  forsooth ;  I  have  spoke  with  her,  and  we 
have  a  nay- word,  how  to  know  one  another.  I  come 
to  her  in  white,  and  cry  "mum;"  she  cries,  "budget," 
and  by  that  we  know  one  another. 

Shal.  That 's  good  too  ;  but  what  needs  either  youi 
"mum."  or  her  "budget?"  the  white  will  decipher  her 
well  enough. — It  hath  struck  ten  o'clock. 

Page.   The  night  is  dark:   light   and   spirits   will 

1  Walk  (mincingly  ) 
VOL.   I.  27 


IS*  THS    MKRRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.        ACT  V. 

become  it  well.  Heaven  prosper  our  sport !  No  man 
means  evil  but  the  devil,  and  we  shall  know  him  by 
his  horns.  Let's  away-  follow  me.  [Eteunt. 

SCENE  TIL— The  Street  in  Windsor. 
Enter  Mrs.  PAGE,  Mrs.  FORD,  and  Dr.  CAIUS. 

Mrs.  Page.  Master  Doctor,  my  daughter  is  in  green 
when  you  see  your  time,  take  her  by  the  hand,  away 
with  her  to  the  deanery,  and  dispatch  it  quickly.  Go 
before  into  the  park :  we  two  must  go  together. 

Caius.  I  know  vat  I  have  to  do.     Adieu. 

Mrs.  Page.  Fare  you  well,  sir.  [Exit  CAIUS.]  My 
husband  will  not  rejoice  so  much  at  the  abuse  of  Fal- 
Btaff,  as  he  will  chafe  at  the  doctor's  marrying  my 
daughter :  but 't  is  no  matter ;  better  a  little  chiding, 
than  a  great  deal  of  heart-break. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Where  is  Nan  now,  and  her  troop  of 
fairies?  and  the  Welch  devil,  Evans?1 

Mrs.  Page.  They  are  all  couched  in  a  pit  hard  by 
Herne's  oak,  with  obscured  lights ;  which,  at  the  very 
instant  of  Falstaff  's  and  our  meeting,  they  will  at  once 
display  to  the  night. 

Mrs.  Ford.  That  cannot  choose  but  amaze  him. 

Mrs.  Page.  If  he  be  not  amazed,  he  will  be  mocked ; 
if  he  be  amazed,  he  will  every  way  be  mocked. 

Mrs.  Ford.  We  '11  betray  him  finely. 

Mrs.    Page.    Against    such    lewdsters,    and    their 

lechery, 
Those  that  betray  them  do  no  treachery. 

Mrs.  Ford.  The  hour  draws  on :  to  the  oak.  to  the 
oak !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— Windsor  Park. 

Enter  Sir  HUGH  EVANS,  and  Fairies. 

Eva.  Trib,  trib.  fairies:  come;  and  remember  your 

parts.     Be  pold.  I  pray  you ;  follow  me  into  the  pit, 

and  when  I  give  the  watch-'ords,  do  as  I  pid   you. 

Come,  come;  tiib,  trib.  [Eteunt. 

SCENE  V.— Another  Part  of  the  Park. 
Entrr  FALSTAFF,  disguised,  with  a  BucTc's  Head  cm. 
Fal.    The  Windsor  bell  hath  struck  twelve;    the 
minute  draws  on.     Now,  the  hot-blooded  gods  assist 

i  Hugh  :   in  f.  e. 


SC.  V.          THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  199 

me  !  —  remember,  Jove,  thou  wast  a  bull  for  thy  Eu- 
ropa;  love  set  on  thy  horns.  —  0  powerful  love!  that, 
in  some  respects,  makes  a  beast  a  man,  in  some  other, 
a  man  a  beast.  —  You  were  also.  Jupiter,  a  swan,  for 
the  love  of  Leda  :  0,  omnipotent  love  !  how  near  the 
god  drew  to  the  complexion  of  a  goose  !  —  A  fault  done 
first  in  the  form  of  a  beast  ;  —  0  Jove,  a  beastly  fault  ! 
and  then  another  fault  in  the  semblance  of  a  fowl  : 
think  on  't,  Jove  ;  a  foul  fault.  When  gods  have  hot 
backs,  what  shall  poor  men  do  ?  For  me,  I  am  here 
a  Windsor  stag;  and  the  fattest,  I  think,  i;  the  forest: 
send  me  a  cool  rut-time,  Jove,  or  who  can  blame  me  to 
piss  my  tallow  ?  Who  comes  here  ?  my  doe  ? 
Enter  Mrs.  FORD  and  Mrs.  PACK. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Sir  John  ?  art  thou  there,  my  deer  ?  my 
male  deer? 

Fal.  My  doe  with  the  black  scut?  —  Let  the  sky 
rain  potatoes  ;  let  it  thunder  to  the  tune  of  "  Green 
Sleeves  ;"  hail  kissing-comfits.  and  snow  eringoes  ;  let 
there  come  a  tempest  of  provocation,  I  will  shelter  me 
here.  [Embracing  her. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Mistress  Page  is  come  with  me,  sweet- 
heart. 

Fal.  Divide  me  like  a  bribe-buck,1  each  a  haunch  : 
I  will  keep  my  sides  to  myself,  my  shoulders  for  the 
fellow  of  this  walk,  and  my  horns  I  bequeath  your 
husbands.  Am  I  a  woodman  ?  ha  !  Speak  I  like 
Herne  the  hunter  ?  —  Why,  now  is  Cupid  a  child  of 
conscience;  he  makes  restitution.  As  I  am  a  true 
spirit,  welcome.  [Noise  within. 

Mrs.  Page.  Alas  !  what  noise  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Heaven  forgive  our  sins  !  • 

Fal.  What  should  this  be? 


[They  run  o/. 

Fal.  I  think,  the  devil  will  not  have  me  damned, 
lest  the  oil  that  is  in  me  should  set  hell  on  fire  ;  he 
would  never  else  cross  me  thus. 
Enter  Sir  HUGH  EVANS,  like  a  Satyr;  Mrs.  QUICKLY, 

and  PISTOL  ;  ANNE  PAGE,  ax  the  Fairy  Queen,  at' 

tended  by  her  brother  and  others,  dressed  like  fairies, 

with  waxen  tapers  on  their  heads. 

Queen.  Fairies,  black,  grey,  green,  and  white, 
1  TSuck  sent  for  a  bribe 


200  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.        ACT  V. 

You  moonshine  revellers,  and  shades  of  night, 
You  orphan-heirs  of  fixed  destiny, 
Attend  your  office,  and  your  quality. 
Crier  Hobgoblin,  make  the  fairy  o-yes. 

Fist.  Elves,  list  your  names  :  silence,  you  airy  toys  t 
Cricket,  to  Windsor  chimneys  when  thoust  leapt,1 
Where  fires  thou  find'st  unrak'd,  and  hearths  unswept, 
There  pinch  the  maids  as  blue  as  bilberry : 
Our  radiant  queen  hates  sluts,  and  sluttery. 

Fal.    They   are  fairies •    he.  that  speaks  to   them, 

shall  die  :  [To  himself* 

I  '11  wink  and  couch.     No  man  their  works  must  eye. 

[Lies  down  upon  his  face. 

Eva.  Where  's  Bead  ? — Go  you,  and  where  you  find 

a  maid, 

That,  ere  she  sleep,  has  thrice  her  prayers  said, 
Rouse3  up  the  organs  of  her  fantasy, 
Sleep  she  as  sound  as  careless  infancy  ; 
But  those  that*  sleep,  and  think  not  on  their  sins, 
Pinch  them,  arms,  legs,  backs,  shoulders,  sides,  and  shins. 

Queen.  About,  about ' 

Search  Windsor  castle,  elves,  within  and  out : 
Strew  good  luck,  ouphes,  on  every  sacred  room, 
That  it  may  stand  till  the  perpetual  doom, 
In  state  as  wholesome,  as  in  state  't  is  fit • 
Worthy  the  owner,  and  the  owner  it. 
The  several  chairs  of  order  look  you  scour 
With  juice  of  balm,  and  every  precious  flower : 
Each  fair  instalment,  coat,  and  several  crest, 
With  loyal  blazon,  ever  more  be  blest ! 
And  nightly,  meadow-fairies,  look,  you  sing, 
Like  to  the  Garter's  compass,  in  a  ring : 
Th'  expressure  tliat  it  bears,  green  let  it  be, 
More  fertile-fresh  than  all  the  field  to  see  : 
And,  Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense,  write, 
In  emerald  tufts,  flowers  purple,  blue,  and  white  ; 
Like  sapphire,  pearl,  and  rich  embroidery, 
Buckled  below  fair  knighthood's  bending  knee  : 
Fniries,  use  flowers  for  their  character}*. 
Away  !  disperse  !  but,  till  't  is  one  o'clock, 
Our  dance  of  custom,  round  about  the  oak 
Of  Herne  the  hunter,  let  us  not  forget. 

Eva.  Lock  hand  in  hand  •  yourselves  in  order  set ; 

«  shall  thou  leap.    »  Not  in  f.  e.    "  raise  :  in  f.  e.    *  as  :  in  f.  e. 


SC.  V.         THE    MERRT    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  201 

And  twenty  glow-worms  shall  our  lanterns  be, 
To  guide  our  measure  round  about  the  tree. 
But.  stay  !  I  smell  a  man  of  middle  earth. 

Fal.  Heavens  defend  me  from  that  Welsh  fair),  lest 

he  transform  me  to  a  piece  of  cheese  !        [To  himself.1 

Pint.  Vile  worm,  thou  wast  o'er-look'd*  even  in  thy 

birth. 

Queen.  With  trial -fire  touch  me  his  finger-end  : 
If  he  be  chaste,  the  flame  will  back  descend, 
And  turn  him  to  no  pain  ;  but  if  he  start, 
[t  is  the  flesh  of  a  corrupted  heart. 
Pist.  A  trial  !  come. 

Eva.  Come,  will  this  wood  take  fire  ? 

[They  burn  him  with  their  tempers 
Fal.  Oh,  oh,  oh  ! 

Queen.  Corrupt,  corrupt,  and  tainted  in  desire  ! 
About  him,  fairies,  sing  a  scornful  rhyme  ; 
And,  as  you  trip,  still  pinch  him  to  your  time.1 

SONG,  by  one. 
Fie  on  sinful  fantasy  ! 
Fie  on  lust  and  luxury  ! 
Lust  is  but  a  bloody  fire, 
Kindled  with  unchaste  desire, 
Fed  in  heart  /  whose  flames  aspire. 
As  thoughts  do  blow  them  higher  and  higher. 

CHORUS. 

Pinch  him,  fairies,  mutually  ; 
Pinch  him  for  his  villainy  ; 
Pinch  him,  and  burn  'him,  and  turn  him  about. 
Till  candles,  and  star-light,  and  moon-shine  be  out. 
During  this  song,  the  fairies  pinch  FALSTAFF  :  Doctor 
CAIUS  comes  one  way,  and  steals  away  a  fairy  in  green; 
SLENDER  another  way,  and  takes  off  a  fairy  in  white; 
and  FENTON  comes,  and  steals  away  ANNE  PAGE.     A 
noise  of  hunting  is  made  within.     All  the  fairies  run 
away.     FALSTAFF  pulls  off  his  buck's  head,  and  rises 
Enter  PAGE,  FORD,  Mrs.  PAGE,  and  Mrs.  FORD.     They 

lay  hold  of  him. 
Page.  Nay,  do  not  fly :  I  think,  we  have  match'd 

you  now. 
Will  none  but  Herne  the  hunter  serve  your  turn  ? 

«  Not  in  f.  e.    »  Bewitched.    *  Mnlone  adds,  from  the  quarto  :— 
Btra.  It  is  right,  iideed  he  is  full  of  lecheries  and  iniquity. 
'       27* 


202  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.         ACT  V. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  pray  you  come ;  hold  up  the  jest  no 

higher. — 

Now,  good  Sir  John,  how  like  you  Windsor  wives  ? 
See  you  these,  husband  ?  do  not  these  fair  yokes 
Become  the  forest  better  than  the  town  ? 

Ford.  Now,  sir,  who  's  a  cuckold  now  ! — Mastei 
Brook,  Falstaff  's  a  knave,  a  cuckoldly  knave  ;  here  are 
his  horns,  master  Brook :  and,  master  Brook,  he  hath 
enjoyed  nothing  of  Ford's  but  his  buck-basket,  his 
cudgel,  and  twenty  pounds  of  money,  which  must  be 
paid  to  master  Brook :  his  horses  are  arrested  for  it, 
master  Brook. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Sir  John,  we  have  had  ill-luck ;  we  could 
never  meet.  I  will  never  take  you  for  my  love  again, 
but  I  will  always  count  you  my  deer. 

Fal.  I  do  begin  to  perceive,  that  I  am  made  an  ass. 

Ford.  Ay,  and  an  ox  too  ;  both  the  proofs  are 
extant. 

Fal.  And  these  are  not  fairies  !  I  was  three  or  four 
times  in  the  thought,  they  were  not  fairies ;  and  yet 
the  guiltiness  of  my  mind,  the  sudden  surprise  of  my 
powers,  drove  the  grossness  of  the  foppery  into  a  re? 
ceived  belief,  in  despite  of  the  teeth  of  all  rhyme  and 
reason,  that  they  were  fairies.  See  now,  how  wit  may 
be  made  a  Jack-a-lent,  when  't  is  upon  ill  employment ! 

Eva.  Sir  John  Falstaff,  serve  Got,  and  leave  your 
desires,  and  fairies  will  not  pinse  you. 

Ford.  Well  said,  fairy  Hugh. 

Eva.  And  leave  you  your  jealousies  too,  I  pray 
you. 

Ford.  I  will  never  mistrust  my  wife  again,  till  thou 
art  able  to  woo  her  in  good  English. 

FcL.  Have  I  laid  my  brain  in  the  sun,  and  dried  it. 
that  it  wants  matter  to  prevent  so  gross  o'er-reaching 
as  this  ?  Am  I  ridden  with  a  Welch  goat  too  ?  shall 
I  have  a  coxcomb  of  frize  ?*  JT  is  time  I  were  choked 
with  a  piece  of  toasted  cheese. 

Eva.  Seese  is  not  good  to  give  putter :  your  pelly  is 
all  jmtter. 

Fal.  Seese  and  putter  !  have  I  lived  to  stand  at 
the  taunt  of  one  that  makes  fritters  of  English  ?  This 
is  enough  to  be  the  decay  of  lust,  and  late-walking, 
through  the  realm. 

'  *  A  foolscap  of  frieze. 


SC.  V.          THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  203 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  Sir  John,  do  yod  think,  though  we 
would  have  thrust  virtue  out  of  our  hearts  by  the  head 
and  .shoulders,  and  have  given  ourselves  without  scruple 
to  hell,  that  ever  the  devil  could  have  made  you  our 
delight  ? 

Ford.  What,  a  hog-pudding  ?  a  bag  of  flax  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  A  puffed  man  ? 

Page.  Old.  cold,  withered,  and  of  intolerable  entrails? 

Ford.  And  one  that  is  as  slanderous  as  Satan  ? 

Page.  And  as  poor  as  Job  ? 

Ford.  And  as  wicked  as  his  wife  ? 

Eva.  And  given  to  fornications,  and  to  taverns,  and 
sack,  and  wine,  and  metheglins,  and  to  drinkings,  and 
swearings,  and  starings.  pribbles  and  prabbles  ? 

Fal.  Well,  I  am  your  theme :  you  have  the  start  of 
me  ;  I  am  dejected ;  I  am  not  able  to  answer  the  Welch 
flannel.  Ignorance  itself  is  a  plummet  o'er  me  :  use 
me  as  you  will. 

Ford.  Marry,  sir,  we  '11  bring  you  to  Windsor,  to  one 
master  Brook,  that  you  have  cozened  of  money,  to 
whom  you  should  have  been  a  pander  :  over  and  above 
that  you  have  suffered,  I  think,  to  repay  that  money 
will -be  a-biting  affliction.1 

Page.  Yet  be  cheerful,  knight :  thou  shalt  eat  a  pos- 
set to-night  at  my  house  ;  where  I  will  desire  thee  to 
laugh  at  my  wife,  that  now  laughs  at  thee.  Tell  her, 
master  Slender  hath  married  her  daughter. 

Mrs.  Page.  Doctors  doubt  that :  if  Anne  Page  be  my 
daughter,  she  is,  by  this,  doctor  Caius'  wife.  [Aside. 
Enter  SLENDER,  crying. 

Slen.  Whoo,  ho  !  ho  !  father  Page  ! 

Page.  Son,  how  now  !  how  now,  son  !  have  you 
despatched  ? 

Slen.  Despatched  ! — I  '11  make  the  best  in  Glouces- 
tershire know  on 't ;  would  I  were  hanged,  la,  "else. 

Page.  Of  what,  son  ? 

Slen.  I  came  yonder  at  Eton  to  marry  mistress  Anne 
Page,  a^d  she  's  a  great  lubberly  boy :  if  it  had  not 
been  i'  the  church.  I  would  have  swinged  him.  or  he 
should  have  swinged  me.  If  I  did  not  think  it  had 

1  The  quartos  here  have — ' 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay.  husband,  let  that  £o  to  make  amends  : 
Foririvo  I  hat  sum  and  so  wo  '11  all  be  friends. 
Ford.  Well,  here  's  my  hand  :  all  's  forgiven  at  last. 
Fal.  It  hath  cost  me  well :  I  have  been  well-pinched  and  wash'd. 


204  THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.       ACT   V, 

been  Anne  Page,  would  I  might  never  stir,  and  't  ib  a 
post-master's  boy. 

Page.  Upon  my  life,  then,  you  took  the  wrong. 

Slen.  What  need  you  tell  me  that?  I  think  so, 
when  I  took  a  boy  for  a  girl :  if  I  had  been  married 
to  him,  for  all  he  was  in  woman's  apparel,  I  would  not 
have  had  him. 

Page.  Why,  this  is  your  own  folly.  Did  not  I  tell 
you,  how  you  should  know  my  daughter  by  her  gar- 
ments ? 

Slen.  I  went  to  her  in  white,  and  cried  u  mum," 
and  she  cried  "  budget,"  as  Anne  and  I  had  appointed , 
and  yet  it  was  not  Anne,  but  a  post-master's  boy. 

Mrs.  Page.  Good  George,  be  not  angry :  I  knew  of 
your  purpose ;  turned  my  daughter  into  green ;  and, 
indeed,  she  is  now  with  the  doctor  at  the  deanery,  and 
there  married. 

Enter  Doctor  CAIUS. 

Caius.  Vere  is  mistress  Page  ?  By  gar,  I  am  co- 
zened ;  I  ha'  married  un  garfon,  a  boy  ;  un  paisan,  by 
gar,  a  boy:  it  is  not  Anne  Page;  by  gar,  I  am 
cozened. 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  did  you  take  her  in  green  ? 

Cains.  Ay,  by  gar,  and  't  is  ahoy:  by  gar,  I  '11  raise 
all  Windsor.  [Exit  CAIUS. 

Ford.  This  is  strange.  Who  hath  got  the  right  Anne  ? 

Page.  My  heart  misgives  me.  Here  comes  master 
Fenton. 

Enter  FENTON  and  ANNE  PAGE. 
How  now,  master  Fenton  !  [They  kneel. 

Anne.  Pardon,  good  father  !  good  my  mother,  pardon, 

Page.  Now,  mistress ;  how  chance  you  went  nol 
with  master  Slender  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Why  went  you  not  with  master  doctor 
maid? 

Pent.  You  do  amaze  her :  hear  the  truth  of  it. 
YQU  would  have  married  her  most  shamefully, 
Where  there  was  no  proportion  held  in  love. 
The  truth  is,  she  and  I,  long  since  contracted. 
Are  now  so  sure,  that  nothing  can  dissolve  us. 
The  ofience  is  holy  that  she  hath  committed ; 
And  this  d~«.c.t  loses  the  name  of  craft, 
Of  disobedience,  of  unduteous  guile,1 


SC:  V.          THE    MERRY    WIVES    OF    WINDSOR.  205 

Since  therein  she  doth  evitate  and  shun 

A.  thousand  irreligious  cursed  hours, 

Which  forced  marriage  would  have  brought  upon  her. 

Ford.  Stand  not  amaz'd  :  here  is  no  remedy. — 
In  love,  the  heavens  themselves  do  guide  the  state : 
Money  buys  lands,  and  wives  are  sold  by  fate. 

Fal.    I   am  glad,  though  you  have  ta'en  a  special 
stand  to  strike  at  me,  that  your  arrow  hath  glanced. 

Page.  Well,  what  remedy  ?     Fenton,  heaven  give 

thee  joy. 
What  cannot  be  eschew'd  must  be  embrac'd. 

Fal.    When   night-dogs   run,  all  sorts  of  deer  are 
chas'd. 

Mrs.  Page.  Well,  I  will  muse  no  farther. — Master 

Fenton, 

Heaven  give  you  many,  many  merry  days. — 
Good  husband,  let  us  every  one  go  home, 
And  laugh  this  sport  o'er  by  a  country  fire ; 
Sir  John  and  all. 

Ford.  Let  it  be  so. — Sir  John, 
To  master  Brook  you  yet  shall  hold  your  word  ; 
For  he,  to-night,  shall  lie  with  mistress  Ford.     \Exeuwt. 


